


The Walking Dead

by idreamofdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Character Death, Community: dramione_remix, Deathly Hallows AU, Drama, Dramione Remix Fest, F/M, Gen, Inferi, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000, Wordcount: Over 20.000, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamofdraco/pseuds/idreamofdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Ron, and Hermione have reached a standstill in their search for Horcruxes. After one of their number is taken by a pack of Inferi, old schoolmates make an appearance, but Hermione's trust is not easily won. With life and death hanging in the balance, she must decide: does she want to live or merely survive? A Deathly Hallows AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Walking Dead (TV show)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/138636) by Frank Darabont. 



> Written for Round 6 of the Dramione Remix Fest. I remixed the couple Daryl/Carol from The Walking Dead.
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta, HobbitPenguin, for her invaluable help during the writing process!! I don't think I've ever had a beta as speedy as you!
> 
> The word limit got me on this one. I had a really ambitious idea for this story, and with a limit of 25,000 words (even though I didn't reach the limit), I feel like I only just got started. Hopefully the ending is satisfying enough for now. If you'd like, you can think of this as season one. With the premiere of Fear the Walking Dead in August and the premiere of season six of The Walking Dead in October, I think I'll have plenty of inspiration to continue this story in the coming months. ;)
> 
> In the process of watching five seasons of The Walking Dead, rewatching the first four seasons again, reading numerous articles, and watching YouTube videos, I have become an expert in wielding a crossbow—without ever touching one. If anyone with more experience with crossbows notices I've written a glaring error in terminology or function, please let me know! The same goes for any geographical errors for the settings of this story. I'm not a Brit, so I did the best I could with internet research.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the story!

PART ONE

  


\- - -  
_September 25th, 1997_  
\- - -

Draco’s trigger finger twitched, and for a moment, he thought about raising the crossbow to eye level and taking aim. Maybe he would have hit one of the lumbering targets that plodded through the sand below, but most likely the gust of wind surging off the sea would snatch the arrow right out of the air, sending it off course.

The Inferi were too far away to be an immediate threat to their camp anyway, so Draco let them be. Logically, shooting everything in sight wasted time, energy, and ammunition. He knew this, and yet he still felt a burn deep inside, a need to _do something_ , something to prove himself to Potter’s friends, to convince them once and for all of his usefulness, and cement his position in their group. Their world was falling apart—maybe the whole world was—and there was nothing he could do about it, no amount of magic, no number of arrows that could fix what was broken.

The sound of twigs snapping behind him provoked no reaction from him, but he pictured his finger tightening on the trigger as his arm rose instinctively, ready to shoot whatever attacked.

Granger stopped a few feet away, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Perhaps he should have felt lucky she hadn’t drawn her wand.

If he was going to make it home alive, Draco needed her to be on his side. At this point, he didn’t think she would ever trust him. Not that she had any good reason to except “I haven’t tried to ruin your life in the last seventy-two hours,” which was an improvement from their days at Hogwarts at least, right?

“Harry is ready to move out,” Granger said. Her eyes were puffy from all the crying she’d done since yesterday, but there was a resolve in them, a determination that Draco wasn’t sure he could trust.

He turned his gaze back down to the beach and quickly cataloged the slow-roaming figures below, counting them, analyzing the speed of their migration in order to assess the urgency of their presence. The Inferi hadn’t sensed them yet, so they still had time. There was no reason for them to leave so soon, not while the majority of their group was still grieving.

“Are you?” he asked.

“I will be soon. We have one more matter to discuss,” she replied.

Her words were ominous enough to earn his attention again, but she surprised him with a blank expression. Save for that one determined wrinkle in her brow, he couldn’t read her. Whatever her plans, they didn’t bode well for Draco.

He followed her back to the tent to learn his fate.

\- - -  
_September 22nd, 1997_  
\- - -

"How many days has it been?" Ron huffed as he tripped over a tree root.

The terrain had become more difficult and unruly the deeper they'd traveled into the forest, and their speed certainly hadn't deterred the number of accidents. There were enough skinned knees and scratched arms and faces to go around.

"I don't know," Harry answered, his pace slowing as they slogged up a hill. The trees in this part of the forest grew so closely together, it was impossible to tell where the moon was. They must have been walking for hours, and with no specific destination in mind, their energy had faded fast.

Hermione grabbed a tree branch to keep from falling and turned around, her breath coming out in heavy pants. "Fifty-two days since the wedding. Twenty days since the Ministry." She turned back around, but there was nothing to see but trees and shrubbery.

Fifty-two days since Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus crashed Bill and Fleur's wedding. Fifty-two days since the Ministry of Magic fell and Harry, Ron, and Hermione went on the run.

Twenty days since they infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and stole Voldemort’s locket Horcrux from Dolores Umbridge, which Hermione now wore around her neck. Twenty days since Death Eaters claimed Grimmauld Place, and, at a loss for anywhere else to go, Hermione Apparated them to the first location that came to mind. They'd been hiding in the countryside for twenty days and they hardly knew what they were running from or where they were going.

"Twenty days," Ron repeated between puffs. "Think we can stop soon?"

"Let's make it to the top of this hill, and then we can set up camp," Harry said.

They climbed without speaking, mostly because the effort took all their breath, but also because there wasn't anything to say. Once they reached the peak, they automatically took up the roles they'd adopted over the last twenty days. Hermione passed her magically-extended beaded bag to Harry so he could set up the tent while she warded the perimeter and Ron gathered dry wood as well as anything edible that he could find.

Half an hour later, they sat around a crackling fire, their stomachs gurgling in unison as acorns hit their empty bellies.

“Do you want me to heal that?” Hermione asked with a gesture towards Harry’s knee. About a mile back, he'd ripped and bloodied his jeans on a rock during a bad fall.

He waved her away. “Save the supplies for something important.”

A beat or two passed before Ron sighed. “We can’t go on like this. What are we doing? Where are we going?”

He and Hermione looked to Harry, but he didn’t meet their eyes. “I’ve been thinking, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Anything’s got to be better than mindlessly running around the forests of England,” Ron said.

Hermione could tell he only partially meant it as a joke, but she couldn’t miss Harry’s flinch at the words. She frowned, not for the first time wondering if Harry really knew what he was doing.

Ignoring Ron’s comment, he said, “We’ve got one Horcrux, but no idea how to destroy it. What if Dumbledore left me Gryffindor’s sword because he knew it could destroy a Horcrux!”

Hermione glanced at Ron. “It’s not a _bad_ theory… but the Ministry confiscated it! Remember, Scrimgeour said as much when he came to the Burrow to give us what Dumbledore left us,” Hermione said.

“That was months ago, though,” Harry replied, becoming more energetic as they got closer to his point. “You said the Ministry couldn’t hold that stuff for longer than thirty-one days. That’s why Scrimgeour waited so long to give it to us.”

“So if the Ministry doesn’t have it anymore, where is it?” Ron asked.

“Well, think,” Harry said, with a wide-eyed look at both of them. “Where does it belong?”

A beat passed before Ron’s eyebrows rose into his hairline and he shook his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Harry said, but Hermione was lost. She looked between her two friends for clarity, but they were clearly on the same page. “The sword of Godric Gryffindor could be in one of two places... Godric’s Hollow or Hogwarts.”

Suddenly Hermione understood, but she wished she didn’t. “Harry… you’re not suggesting we _break into_ Hogwarts to look for the sword and steal it, are you?”

“Well, I was thinking we could try Godric’s Hollow first. It makes sense—no, listen!” Hermione and Ron had just shared another apprehensive look, and Harry became desperately fervent as a result. “Listen. Tom’s got a connection to Godric’s Hollow just as much as I do. He could have hidden a Horcrux there. While we’re looking for that, we could look for the sword, too. Maybe both of them are there!”

“Harry…” Hermione began, trying to be as understanding as possible. “We’ve gone over this before. That’s exactly where Voldemort would expect you to go. You would be playing right into his hands. I know you want to see where your parents lived—”

“It’s not just that! It makes sense. It does! And besides breaking into Hogwarts, I don’t have any other ideas. Do you?” 

She didn’t, but the knot that had appeared in her stomach twenty days ago grew bigger, and her heart beat against her sternum as if demanding to be released from its cage. Hermione felt caged. By the trees of the forest they’d been wandering through for days. By the wards that surrounded their camp. By the enormity of the task before them. She hadn’t hesitated when she’d put her lot in with Harry’s at Dumbledore’s funeral. Not then, and not when she’d erased her parents’ memories and sent them to Australia a few short weeks later. She would just have to learn to live with the dread.

Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Listen, mate, Hermione’s got a point.” His head suddenly snapped up, his brow bunched as he peered through the dense cover of trees. “Hey, do you hear that?”

Harry clenched his fists and ignored Ron’s question, turning instead to Hermione with an imploring expression. “Where else can we go? You were wrong about the orphanage where Tom grew up. I knew that was going to be a waste of time, but we went anyway. This is the best idea I’ve got!”

Ron stood up and turned his back to the fire, his eyes intent on the trees around them. “I’m serious, guys, what is that?”

“No, it’s the worst idea you’ve got! You need to think! Dumbledore must have told you something—”

_“But he didn’t—”_

“Um, GUYS?”

Harry and Hermione, now standing over the fire, turned at the same moment. _“What is it?”_

Ron’s mouth hung open and his eyes were wide in fear. His shaking hand withdrew his wand as a body stumbled out from between the trees. At first, Hermione was shocked that someone had found them in the middle of the forest. These woods were too dense for casual camping, so there shouldn’t have been another person around for miles.

Then as the campfire illuminated the intruder, Hermione fought to stifle a scream. Patches of flesh hung off her face, revealing rotted muscle and in some places bone where there should have been skin. She stank of old meat and her body seemed to be home to ants and maggots, which, even on the other side of the fire, Hermione could see burrowing into the crusty surface of her skin. Eyeless sockets peered at the three of them before she lunged at the closest person: Ron.

Then, Hermione did scream. More and more bodies filtered through the trees, heedless of the wards around the campsite, which were supposed to make camp invisible to outsiders and inspire interlopers to go in a different direction. Putrid, rancid bodies streamed around them from every direction. Hermione couldn’t count them, couldn’t tell them apart or identify them. All she could do was scream as the first woman sank browned teeth into Ron’s shoulder. It only occurred to Hermione one horrified moment later, that the woman’s teeth were brown from oxidized blood.

Across the fire from her, Harry shot spells in every direction and yelled Ron’s name. Hermione stood frozen in panic, her heart beating like a drum in her throat. All she could do was watch as Harry shoved the walking corpses to the ground while using defensive spells to keep them away. He worked his way towards Ron, but he and the woman who had first entered their camp were being converged on by the others, and Ron was quickly being dragged into the trees, his screams barely heard over a mutinous, snarling groan.

“Hermione!”

She fell to the ground heaving, the lack of anything of substance in her stomach causing her to vomit pure bile. Harry’s voice floated around her, disjointed and incomprehensible as her world began to spin.

“HERMIONE!”

Her head snapped up as feet stopped beside her, a man—or what was once a man—staring down at her through maggoty eyeballs. The smell of something burning distracted her, bringing her to her senses, and she pulled out her wand and coughed out, _“Incendio!_

At once, the figure made gasping sort of noises and retreated as the bits of clothes still hanging on its frame caught alight and began to burn.

“THAT’S IT, HERMIONE!” Harry yelled, and she turned her head to see Harry conjuring flames and shooting them at their attackers. He raced after them as they fled back into the woods, the gurgling noises they emitted receding until Hermione was alone with the sound of the flickering flames of the person she’d set on fire rapidly burning on the ground. Every now and then, she heard the echo of Ron’s name as Harry searched for their friend.

Hermione’s heartbeat moved from her throat to her temples as she lifted herself onto her knees and looked around at the chaos of their camp. The tent had caught fire with one of Harry’s wayward spells, and the dirt where Ron had been standing only minutes before was soaked in blood. A choked sob escaped her throat at the sight of the mud, which was tar-colored in the darkness. She doused the flames on the tent and the body and quickly repaired any holes before she raced off into the woods after Harry.

She was too breathless to scream Ron’s name, but she kept her wand tip illuminated and stayed alert in case she needed to defend herself.

How had they managed to get through the wards? Where had they come from? The stench alone from all the rotting bodies should have alerted Harry, Ron, and Hermione to their presence, and yet it was as though they had come out of nowhere. Simply materialized in the trees around the camp and then attacked them. As if they’d known exactly where their camp was located.

She crashed through the woods without answers, down the hill they’d climbed earlier, darting between trees, jumping over shrubs and exposed roots. She tried to listen intently for any sound: Harry’s voice, the groaning of the corpse-people who had taken Ron, but all she heard was her own clumsy fumbling as she ran.

“Hermione!”

She stopped herself on the trunk of a tree and spun around. “Harry!” she cried, tears stinging her eyes. “Did you find him? Did you find Ron?”

When he reached her, she threw her arms around his neck, drawing him close, and she realized that both of them were trembling.

“No—no—I tried to follow them, but they got away, they moved too fast. I don’t—I don’t know where he is—” His voice cut off as if his throat had suddenly closed up, and by the warm wetness on Hermione’s neck, she knew exactly what he couldn’t say.

Hermione tightened her grip around Harry’s neck, burrowing her face into his chest as he latched his arms around her like a vice, their combined body heat doing nothing for the chill that had crept into her bones or their shivering.

“What were those things?” she asked after a moment, her voice hoarse with suppressed sobs.

There was a pause before Harry answered that made Hermione step back and look at him. All of the blood had drained out of his face, and a cold sweat had popped up on his brow. “Inferi. I couldn’t tell at first, but when you used the fire-making spell, it clicked. The Inferi I saw in the cave with Dumbledore were a little more—er—waterlogged.”

“Oh, please, don’t!” Hermione said, covering her ears with her hands. “I don’t want to hear about them. It’s one thing to read about them in a textbook or a newspaper, but seeing them in person—” She shuddered, and then she couldn’t stop.

Harry awkwardly patted her back. “Do you know how to get back to camp? Maybe Ron will meet us there.”

It was the only hope they had, and Hermione was desperate to cling onto it.

When they arrived back at the campsite, breathless from the return trek up the hill, a male figure was there sitting on a tree root outside the perimeter of the wards.

Hermione gasped and sprinted forward, Ron's name tearing out from between her lips as Harry beckoned her to be careful.

The man turned around, but it wasn't Ron. Unkempt platinum blond hair glistened in the light of a campfire the intruder couldn't see, and slung across his back hung a crossbow. Harry and Hermione both drew their wands as one of them issued a string of curse words.

“Do you idiots know what you’ve done?" said the last person they'd expected or wanted to cross while they were on the run.

Draco Malfoy had found them.


	2. Chapter 2

  


\- - -  
_August 31st, 1997_  
\- - -

Draco’s heart pounded with the terror of the chase.

There were too many people at Malfoy Manor nowadays, too many eyes spying for the Dark Lord, too many sycophants waiting for the Malfoys to mess up even worse in order to swoop in and steal their glory.

Even the portraits seemed to whisper behind Draco’s back. How he’d managed to sneak out of the manor without alerting anyone to his leaving he couldn’t comprehend, but he knew it wasn’t his skill at subtlety that had saved him. Tucked inside a secure box inside his knapsack nestled half a vial of Felix Felicis brewed lovingly by his mum.

“Drink this and go!” she’d said to him in a harsh whisper as she shook him awake and he blinked up at her blearily. “Run, Draco. Protect yourself!”

Tears stung her eyes, but Narcissa was too proud to let them fall in front of her son. He hadn’t wanted to leave, he hadn’t wanted to split up his family, especially not after what he’d gone through the previous year trying to keep them together. But adrenaline had woken him up and Felix Felicis had made him feel invincible. Now that the effects were wearing off, Draco was horrified to realize what he’d done.

When his Aunt Bellatrix found out, she’d think he’d defected from the Death Eaters, proving her right after a summer of taunts about his and his father’s incompetency. And he’d left his family behind to suffer the consequences.

He kept running, and then Apparating several yards at a time when his legs grew too tired, until the lowlands of the countryside turned into wooded forests.

Even hidden amongst the trees, Draco felt exposed, like the Dark Lord’s red eyes were following his every move. He needed a plan. He needed protection. But where could someone like him, a deserter alone without any friends, find an ally?

\- - -  
_September 22nd, 1997_  
\- - -

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry demanded as he inched closer to Hermione.

Malfoy stood up, but he maintained his distance from the two heated wands aimed straight at him. “Well, I was trying to get some sleep until a horde of Inferi appeared from nowhere. Thanks for that.”

Hermione grit her teeth, and while her mind raced for the easiest way to get out of this encounter unscathed, she said, “They didn’t attack you?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “They would have had I not been strapped to the branch of a tree. They didn’t see me or smell me, and they were obviously more concerned about you.”

“How did they get through our wards?” Harry asked, his eyes flicking to Hermione’s for a moment.

“Why don’t we continue this interrogation inside your camp? I know you’ve got one. I watched the Inferi disappear behind the wards and then reappear when they left.”

Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest so hard she thought she would choke. “D-did you see Ron? Did you see what happened to him?”

When his eyes turned on her, there was pity there as well as something arrogant, and Hermione could already feel a hole opening in her chest, devouring her heart and every good emotion she’d ever felt. “Your boyfriend’s a lost cause. He was bitten.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, his wand jerking up further and red sparks leaking out of the tip.

Malfoy raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t say any more until you bring me into your camp. Something to eat would be nice as well.”

A cold cackle came out of Hermione’s mouth, drawing Malfoy’s attention back to her. Harry’s lips drew tighter.

He and Hermione shared a look—Harry gave an infinitesimal shrug while Hermione shook her head. He tried again, his eyebrows raising in entreaty, and when Hermione’s subliminal answer didn’t change, he said, “He could tell us more about the Inferi. Maybe we’ll get a clue about Ron.”

“Or,” Hermione said, her jaw clenched in frustration with Harry’s recent string of bad ideas, “he could be distracting us until someone else comes along. This could be a trap!”

“You’re right not to trust me,” Malfoy interjected, his brow knit in solemnity, “but this is no trap. Give me your protection, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Ha! He’s lying, Harry! Why would he possibly need _our_ protection? We need to protect ourselves from him!”

But Hermione could tell her words were rolling right off Harry’s back. He stared at Malfoy with an intensity Hermione had seen just before he’d announced his desire to enact their Ministry infiltration plan posthaste. The look on his face did not bode well for the overall mission, and Hermione’s stomach sank so low she could have tripped over it to see this expression on his face again.

Malfoy saw it, too, and he turned his attention to Harry in order to exploit his indecision.

“I’ll tell you anything,” Malfoy said, desperation evident in the way the words spilled out of his mouth. As if speaking slower would give Harry time to deny Malfoy’s request. “Not just about the Inferi, but about what’s going on out there. About… You-Know-Who.”

“He’s lying!” Hermione insisted again. Panic began to infect her, and her voice became softer to counteract it. She lowered her wand slightly and moved closer to Harry. “We can’t trust him! Please, Harry, don’t be rash about this. He’s the enemy!”

Finally, Harry broke his eye contact with Malfoy and looked into Hermione’s pleading face. “We don’t have to tell him anything. He doesn’t have to know what we’re doing.”

He must not have spoken softly enough because Malfoy said, “I already know what you’re doing.”

Harry and Hermione’s heads snapped up, and their wands quickly rose higher in alarm.

“You do?” Harry asked.

“You’re trying to defeat You-Know-Who. Everyone knows that. The Prophet is trying to paint you as a coward who’s run away, and the public believes it. But the ones in charge at the Ministry know that you’re still fighting. And I’m trying to tell you that I’m in.”

“In?” Hermione questioned with a scathing scoff.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, Granger? I ran away. I want in with you lot. Now, can we please go inside before we’re discovered?”

Hermione didn’t believe a word he spewed from his foul mouth, but even so, she could tell Malfoy was spooked. Even as he stood completely still, giving the appearance of calmness, his desperation manifested itself as urgency in his voice. She didn’t care. She only wanted to keep herself and Harry alive and out of Voldemort’s hands as they searched for Ron and the remaining Horcruxes.

Before a decision could be made, another voice rang out as a slight figure barrelled out from the trees. “I told you I saw Harry, Colin! I told you I wasn’t seeing things!”

Hermione gaped at Dennis Creevey—and then at his brother as Colin joined him—who beamed as if he had just received an autographed picture of Harry. Colin had his wand drawn, pointing it alternately between Malfoy, Harry, and Hermione in caution. Dennis did not seem to have the same wariness his brother did.

“Which spell did I spend extra time teaching you in Dumbledore’s Army until you perfected it?” Harry demanded of Colin.

“The Disarming spell,” he answered. “Where was Dumbledore’s Army’s first meeting?”

Hermione and Harry answered simultaneously: “The Hog’s Head!”

At that, Colin’s lips trembled as if holding back a smile, and then he turned his wand on Malfoy as he came to stand next to Hermione and Harry. Dennis bounced between the three of them.

“Have you been out here this whole time?” Colin asked.

“We’ve been on the move since the Ministry fell,” Hermione replied. “What are you doing here?”

Colin laughed bitterly. “Dennis and I got letters from the Ministry letting us know we were no longer welcome at Hogwarts and demanding that we turn ourselves in to the Muggleborn Registration Commission for questioning. Instead, we left home. We came upon Malfoy several days ago, and we’ve been following him ever since.”

Four sets of eyes turned to look at Malfoy, who hadn’t moved an inch since before Dennis and Colin had come crashing out of the trees.

“You two make horrible spies. Lucky for you, I have no quarrel with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Colin demanded, the tip of his wand trembling.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It means your snoring and your brother’s mad dashing between the trees gave you away four days ago. If I’d been a Snatcher, I would have turned you in as soon as I discovered you. Luckily, we’re all avoiding the same people.”

“What are Snatchers?” Harry asked.

“I’ll tell you if you let me into your camp. You need to hurry though. Your wards will need to be recast to keep the Inferi out.”

“But that will keep Ron out, too!” Hermione cried.

Malfoy shrugged. “I told you. It’s too late for him. You need to forget about him and recast your wards or move on.”

Hot, bitter tears stung Hermione’s eyes, and she was so furious, her whole body was shaking from the force of her rage.

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry said. “We’ll tie him up, we’ll blindfold him. We’ll keep him contained. But he could help us.”

“That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard you say, Harry Potter!” Hermione hissed. “The word ‘help’ isn’t even in a Malfoy’s vocabulary!”

“Colin?” Harry entreated.

Colin had huddled closer to Harry and Hermione as they’d spoken in hushed voices, and now he shook his head. “We’ve been following him for four days, and I’ve never seen him do anything except dodge packs of Inferi.”

“Packs?” Harry and Hermione both repeated in disbelief.

Colin nodded. “Small, maybe ten or less in each. But if Malfoy knew we were following him the whole time, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“No,” Harry disagreed. “If he knew you were following him, why didn’t he confront you? Why didn’t he let the Inferi find you? Why didn’t he take you to the Death Eaters or lead them straight to you? He’s not a killer, I saw that for myself a few months ago, and I think we should hear what he has to say.”

He raised his wand, and as Hermione cried, “Harry, no!” a bolt of red light hit Malfoy in the chest and he fell to the ground, Stunned.

\- - -

As Colin, Dennis, and Harry bound Malfoy to a chair inside the tent, Hermione paced outside, her arms crossed over her chest with her shaking hands tucked against her body. She clutched at herself because she thought if she let go, she would disappear. Nothing that had happened in the last hour—two hours—however much time had passed—felt real. She didn’t know how to understand everything that had occurred.

She’d already reset the wards, and she’d shed more than a few tears as she did so. But Malfoy had been right about that part, at least. If they hadn’t taken the wards down and reapplied the enchantments, their camp would be vulnerable to the same pack of Inferi that had attacked them. The only way to keep them out was to re-enchant the perimeter.

That meant Ron wouldn’t be able to find his way back to them, and that’s what Hermione was contemplating while her friends dealt with Malfoy. With four of them in their group now, they should be able to organize a small search party, either in pairs or separately. But now that Harry had taken Malfoy hostage, someone would have to stay behind to guard him. They couldn’t let him go because as long as he knew the vicinity of their location, he could sit and wait for someone to breach the wards. That would be just as bad as giving him direct access. Which he now had, thanks to Harry.

A few stray tears slipped down Hermione’s face, and she wiped at them angrily. What was Harry thinking! This mission was already difficult and stressful enough, and in one day, nearly two months after setting out, three people had already found them, and one of those three people was their enemy. They didn’t need the hangers-on, and they definitely didn’t need a hostage.

Maybe… and this was a horrible thought to have, but as the weeks passed, Hermione couldn’t help but think it… maybe Harry was being influenced by his connection to Voldemort. Maybe that was why he was so insistent on going to Godric’s Hollow or—damn! He’d even suggested Hogwarts! Which they _knew_ was controlled by Snape and some of Voldemort’s most loyal Death Eaters. Where else could the ridiculous thought have come from if Voldemort hadn’t planted it in his mind?

If only he had mastered Occlumency like Dumbledore had asked him to….

She looked up into the darkness that surrounded the small camp and shivered at the idea of everything they didn’t know. They didn’t know where the next Horcrux was. They didn’t know how to destroy one. And out there, in the shadows of the densely growing forest, they didn’t know if there were more Inferi waiting to attack. She shivered again and decided to take her chances inside the tent.

It was probably a good idea to supervise the interrogation anyway. If Harry was being influenced by Voldemort, it wouldn’t be prudent to leave him alone with Malfoy. And even if he wasn’t, Hermione still needed to hear the lies Malfoy would surely spew.

She found Dennis and Colin in the kitchen standing around Malfoy, who was bound to a chair and blindfolded, while Harry sat on his bunk digging through his bag. Malfoy’s knapsack and crossbow sat on top of the kitchen table, nearby but safely out of his reach.

“What are you doing?” she asked Harry as she pulled out her wand, keeping it at her side but ready just in case.

“Looking for the Sneakoscope you gave me for my birthday. Ha! Here it is!” He pulled out what looked like a plain, glass spinning top and put it on the kitchen table next to Malfoy’s chair. “It might be useful,” he said with a shrug at Hermione’s skeptical expression. “Best thing we’ve got without any Veritaserum.”

She gestured with her wand in Malfoy’s direction. “He’s awfully quiet.”

“I used the Muffliato charm on him. He can’t hear us.” Then Harry removed the spell and the blindfold.

Malfoy blinked up at them, his eyes darting between the four wands slightly raised and aimed at him. He scowled. “Is all of this necessary?”

“Yes!” Hermione said. “Did you really think we were going to let you join us just like that?”

Malfoy shrugged against the ropes that bound him to the chair. “I made it inside your camp, didn’t I?”

Hermione’s whole body began to shake in indignation, but before any words could leave her mouth, Harry interrupted her.

“Just tell us what you’re doing here, Malfoy. We haven’t decided if you’re staying.”

From the far left, Dennis turned to Colin and whispered, “Are _we_ staying?”

The words made Hermione’s face flush from her earlier thoughts about Colin and Dennis being unwanted tagalongs. If the brothers left, where else could they go? Who else could they trust?

“I brought you something,” Malfoy answered, his face unflinchingly neutral. But Hermione and Harry both knew that he was a skilled Occlumens. His lies would be hard to detect. Would the Sneakoscope pick up his true intentions? “Something that might help you defeat the Dark Lord.”

“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Hermione scoffed.

“Believe what you want,” he snarled back. “It’s not a secret weapon. It’s just something that could help.”

“Why do you want to help us?” Harry asked.

“How did you find us?” Hermione added.

Malfoy looked between both of them: one calm and curious but severely serious, the other seething with rage and disbelief. Dennis and Colin observed from Malfoy’s right, wide-eyed and cautious. Hermione watched him calculate his chances with his four opponents. She could just _see_ the gears turning in his head, looking for the easiest way to slither out of the situation.

But why would he step into the situation in the first place if he hadn’t expected their reactions?

She scowled, not wanting to give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt like Harry did.

Malfoy looked Hermione straight in the eye, his cold gaze piercing right through her. “I wasn’t looking for you. Not exactly. I traveled wherever I’d heard Potter had been spotted last, but unless I’d just missed you, those were just rumors. Any time I came across a pack of Inferi, I abandoned my search and changed course. It wasn’t a very fruitful search. Honestly, tonight was an accident. We just happened to be at the same place at the same time.”

The Sneakoscope didn’t light up, spin, or whistle, but Hermione didn’t believe him. Harry was the most wanted man in the country; Death Eaters were surely searching for him everywhere. And yet Malfoy, who hadn’t _exactly_ been looking for him, accidentally stumbled across him right after a part of Voldemort’s Inferi army attacked them and took Ron? Sure! Totally believable!

Now Malfoy turned to Harry. “The Dark Lord has taken up residence at Malfoy Manor. My family has lived with and entertained him all summer long. You don’t know what that’s like. Last year, he threatened to kill me and my family if I didn’t kill Dumbledore!”

“And yet you’re still alive,” Hermione snarled.

He shot a wilting glare at her, which she ignored, and turned back to Harry. “The sooner you defeat him, the sooner my family gets their lives and their freedom back.”

Hermione couldn’t stop the laughter that spilled from her throat. “Do you really think your family will be free even if he’s defeated?”

“I don’t know about you, Granger, but given only one choice, I’d take Azkaban over the Dark Lord any day,” he replied through a clenched jaw.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy,” she continued in a taunting voice, “afraid to say your master’s name? It’s Vol—”

“DON’T SAY IT!”

Harry, Hermione, Dennis, and Colin all jumped, their wands rising higher on instinct. Malfoy showed more emotion than he had all evening. The urgency that Hermione had detected in his voice earlier now manifested itself on his face in wide, dangerous eyes.

“Don’t say the name! It’s Taboo! When you say his name, Inferi appear, even in heavily warded areas. That’s how they got through your wards. One of you idiots must have said his name!”

Hermione’s first reaction was to deny his claim, but when she thought back to the moments before the Inferi attacked, Hermione and Harry had been arguing about Horcruxes…. Had they really gone this long without saying the name before tonight? This would require some reflection when things quieted down and Hermione could be alone with her thoughts.

Harry turned to her with regret in his eyes. “Maybe you should let me handle this,” he said quietly.

But not quietly enough. Dennis and Colin conveniently looked away from her, and Malfoy stared at her with a smirk on his lips.

Harry put a hand on her arm and turned her away from their eavesdroppers for more privacy. “It’s been a long, emotional night. And, er….”

“Just say it,” she said in defeat, knowing already what he was going to say.

“I don’t think constantly antagonizing Malfoy is going to help anything. We’ll look for Ron as soon as the sun rises, but for now, I just want some answers.”

She deflated, her anger from moments ago suddenly abandoning her, leaving her feeling drained and heated, almost sickly.

Tears stung her eyes again now that she didn’t have anything to divert her attention to except herself. Her hand rose to her chest, grasping the Horcrux locket she’d been wearing all day through her shirt.

“I’ll just go take watch outside,” she said.

No one stopped her as she left the tent, and she let the tears fall as she processed everything that had happened that night.

She cried harder when she realized that she had been the one to say You-Know-Who’s name. Ron was missing because of her.


	3. Chapter 3

  


\- - -  
_September 7th, 1997_  
\- - -

Draco had never gone this long without a bath. Or without eating. He tried to stay away from the villages and towns he saw from a distance, but when his hunger ran rampant, he Disillusioned himself to steal some food from a restaurant or a market stall. It still wasn’t enough. 

In the bag his mum had shoved into his arms, he’d found some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and his Hand of Glory—both of which brought back bitter memories—along with a few articles of clothing and a blanket. He’d eaten the food his mum had packed within the first two days. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be hungry again.

Part of him foolishly hoped his mum had sent someone to meet him somewhere, to take him in and care for him away from the heat of battle until the war was over. That was the only reason he hadn’t gone to France or Switzerland or (he shuddered just thinking about it) America. Part of him believed his mum had a plan that she hadn’t told him. Why else would she pull him out of bed and shove him out the door like she had? Why would she endanger her son, her husband, and herself in such a way?

But when he considered the possibility of this hope, he began to wonder what would happen to him if the Dark Lord won the war instead of Potter. What would happen to Draco, a supposed deserter from the Death Eaters, if he was found being harbored by someone by request of his mother? And what would happen to his parents once he was found?

He was too afraid to contemplate it, and he was too hungry to think.

He clambered through the woods, tripping on his own two feet, never mind the rocks and tree roots that impeded him. His stomach had stopped growling at least a day ago, and now it twisted itself into painful, cramping knots. Every part of his body hurt and felt numb at the same time.

When Draco saw a camping tent, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating, but he couldn’t imagine the smell of the white smoke billowing from a doused fire pit. It burned his throat and miraculously caused his stomach to grumble again. He hid behind a tree, his wand out and at the ready, his eyes darting around the campsite for an opponent.

Nothing. Just a tent, a cold fire, and a choked, groaning sound. More alert than he’d been in days, Draco moved through the camp cautiously, but the groans came from behind the tent.

Strung up in a tree by his foot hung a man—but not. A violent chill went down Draco’s spine at the sight of the cobwebbed, dead eyes. The odor of decay had been hidden by the smoke, but now that he was free of it, death was all Draco could smell. The man, clearly a corpse by the graying tint of his skin alone, reached towards him with hands of exposed bone. Something had nibbled the flesh off his fingers. 

Draco had known the Dark Lord had raised an army of the reanimated dead, but he’d never seen one of his Inferi in person. His knowledge of them stemmed from Snape’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson the previous year, but with more pressing matters on his mind, Draco had hardly paid attention in class.

He took a step back and stumbled over something in the dirt. He picked up a crossbow, admiring the weight of it and appreciating, most importantly, the protection it could give him. After a few tries, he managed to draw the string back and cock it, but the effort made his arms burn and left him panting in exhaustion. Next he pulled an arrow from the attached quiver and nocked it in the groove along the length of the crossbow.

By this time, he was more tired than when he’d started, and the weapon was heavier than he thought it was. He would never admit it to anyone (not that there was anyone to tell), but the instrument felt powerful in his hands and made him feel safer than he had in days. There was something about the weight of it, the effort it took to draw the string, the dinged up, metal body that his wand couldn’t live up to.

His arms shook as he lifted the crossbow to eye-level and advanced on the Inferius hanging upside down from the tree, leaving enough distance to keep him out of arm’s reach. He pulled the trigger and the arrow dove right into the Inferius’s head. It continued to flail towards Draco, just with an arrow protruding from his eye socket.

Draco started the process again, cocking the bow, nocking a new arrow, except this time he used his wand to set the arrow on fire.

He lifted the crossbow and pulled the trigger. His arms shook so much, he missed the Inferius’s head. Instead, the arrow dug into its shoulder, and the fire spread along its whole body as if it were made of dry tinder.

The sounds of its groans were nearly drowned out by the crackling of the fire that consumed it, and Draco smiled, enjoying the sight.

\- - -  
_September 23rd, 1997_  
\- - -

Draco had taken to a life on the run better than anyone would have expected for him—even himself. After hours of practice, he’d become decent at wielding the crossbow he’d found, decent enough to hunt himself some rabbits and squirrels. The threat of hunger was sufficient motivation to eat what he’d killed, no matter how badly he’d mangled it in the skinning process. 

Was Draco a natural-born camper or hunter? No. But he’d learned quickly. His only other alternative was to lay down and die of starvation or wait for Death Eaters, Snatchers, or Inferi to find him. His crossbow became his lifeline in the two weeks he had it before he’d found Potter and it was taken from him.

So seeing Granger touch it with her grubby hands made Draco want to reach for his wand—which had also been confiscated from him. She drew the string back as far as she could, and even though Draco knew how much force it took to properly cock it, he winced, waiting for the string to snap. Not that he thought she was strong enough. He just knew her untrained hands would damage it, and her impure touch would taint it. Surely a Mudblood’s touch would weaken the metal, make it a less effective instrument?

“Be careful with that, will you?” Draco grumbled.

Potter had left him tied to a chair all night long, which meant Draco, who had already been exhausted when he’d stumbled across Potter’s camp, was running on fumes. And his shoulders ached from his arms being tied behind his back. _And_ he had a crick in his neck. But as soon as day had broken, Potter had set Draco free.

“We need the extra set of eyes,” he’d said by way of explanation.

“I told you Weasley was a lost cause. I explained it all to you,” he’d replied.

“I know,” Potter said in a low voice. “But we have to try. For Hermione.”

That had made Draco roll his eyes. Now he was regretting his rudeness towards her that morning and the day before. She held his lifeline in her hands. What would he do if she destroyed it?

“You’re going to teach me how to use this,” Granger said as she shot him a steely glare that begged for him to contradict her. He didn’t only because his crossbow meant that much to him.

“Now? I thought you wanted to go look for your boyfriend?”

“He’s not—” She scowled. “We are. You’re going to teach me as we look.”

Draco hadn’t been expecting that, and as much as he disliked all of the people he’d suddenly found himself with, Granger was the one right now that he disliked the most. It seemed from their antagonizing the previous night that she distrusted him and hated him more than the others, though all four of them had plenty of reason distrust and hate Draco. Part of him wondered if this was a ploy to off him while they were out in the woods together where Potter couldn’t see. She could easily blame his death on an Inferi attack.

She gathered some supplies and packed them into a tiny beaded bag before prompting Draco out of the tent at wand-point. Draco didn’t know where his own wand was or who had it. It had been taken from him while he’d been Stunned, but he desperately hoped someone besides Granger was keeping guard over it. The last thing Granger needed was a crossbow and _two_ wands in her possession.

The morning was chilly with the crisp scent of autumn blowing in on the breeze, but it would grow warm again by noon. They trekked down the hill, slowly and carefully to avoid any mishaps, but it was easier traveling through the woods during the day than at night, even with the limited sunlight filtering through the leaves.

The emergence of autumn meant leaves were starting to change color from the bright, healthy green of summer to golden yellows and fiery reds. The dappled light that hit the forest floor was painted in the colors of the leaves like stained glass portraits of the forest.

Whenever Draco slowed down too much, Granger prodded him in the back with her wand, urging him to keep moving. What a waste not to appreciate their serene surroundings. The rest of the country was in a panic or a state of despair due to Dementors freely wandering through towns, but here, away from people, away from the influence of the war, it felt like they were in another world. At first Draco had brooded over his mother’s actions inciting him to leave the manor, but now he much preferred toughing it out on his own while hiding from or fighting the stray Inferius to staying home with his Aunt Bellatrix’s taunts and the threat of the Dark Lord’s return hanging over his head every day. He felt at peace with these trees in a way he’d never experienced in his life.

He had no expectations to live up to, he had no appearances he had to keep. He didn’t have to feign civility. He could be as wild and unruly as he wanted. This place was heaven.

“Okay, stop here,” Granger said after twenty minutes of walking. They had been following a rugged trail on the ground caused by the dragging feet of the Inferi that had attacked them. The trail continued on through the woods, but Granger stopped, pulling the crossbow off her shoulder.

“Heavy?” Draco asked with a smirk as she rubbed her arm.

“No,” she lied, scowling. Straight to the point again, she asked, “Now, how do I get this thing loaded?”

Why she thought Draco would help her, he didn’t know. Maybe she thought his lack of weapons and her abundance of them was enough of a threat to encourage his help, but that wasn’t why Draco did as she said. As he’d explained the night before—admittedly in more detail to Potter after she got kicked out of the tent—he wanted to become a part of their group. He meant them no harm and only wanted to see their mission completed. The sooner the Dark Lord was defeated, the sooner Draco could go home, if his parents hadn’t already been killed as punishment for Draco’s supposed desertion. He wouldn’t know that until this war was over, though, whichever side ended up being victorious.

“Place the front end on the ground and put your foot through that hole,” he said. When he stepped closer to show her, she glared at him, so he kept his distance and pointed uselessly instead. “Now grab the string. No, not that part—yes, right there, and using your weight to keep the crossbow on the ground, pull it back until the string cocks.”

“How will I know when it’s cocked?” she asked through grit teeth as she strained to draw the string.

“You’ll know,” he replied. “It will catch under the telescope part.”

She didn’t say anything further as she fruitlessly pulled on the string, only managing to draw it halfway up the bow.

“It’s not working!” she said with a frustrated huff.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to do it for you?”

She stared at him through narrowed eyes, clearly mistrusting his intentions, but apparently she thought learning how to use the weapon was worth the risk of putting it in his hands. She removed her foot from the stirrup and gestured for him to take over.

Draco couldn’t help his smirk as he cocked the string almost effortlessly. All the practice he’d had using the bow had strengthened his arms. And as the number of packs of Inferi he’d run into grew, Draco began to make his bed in trees where the undead were less likely to stumble across him in his sleep. Due to his effort with the crossbow and his daily tree-climbing, he was stronger than he’d ever been, even while playing Quidditch at Hogwarts.

Granger flinched when he picked up the crossbow, but all he did was hand it to her. She hesitated before taking it.

“Now what?”

“Now take one of the arrows from the quiver at the end there and place it in the groove on top. Slide it all the way back. Take aim. Then pull the trigger.”

She fitted the arrow into the groove before lifting the crossbow to eye-level and taking a look through the scope.

“If you use your wand, you can make a target on a tree to practice on,” he suggested. Only after the words left his mouth did he begin to wonder if she’d intended to use him as target practice the whole time. He gulped.

But Granger took out her wand and burned an X on a nearby tree, saving Draco’s body from unnecessary puncture marks. She took several steps back and took her time adjusting herself, getting comfortable with the weight of the crossbow in her hands, analyzing the target through the scope, before she finally pulled the trigger. The arrow sailed, fast and straight… right past the tree and into a thicket.

She frowned as she retrieved the arrow and returned to her spot.

“Maybe try standing a little closer? It’s not a great weapon for long-range targets.”

She scowled harder but took his advice and moved a few steps closer. This time she cocked the string by herself, but she was panting afterward from the energy required to complete the action, and Draco could tell she was already growing weary when she lifted the crossbow again and her arms began to tremble.

This time the arrow hit the tree but missed her target by several inches. It was still something of a victory though, and she smiled in excitement. “I did it!”

“Good job,” Draco said in a sardonic tone. “You’re ready to kill Inferi.”

Her smile fell from her lips instantly, and as she retrieved the arrow from the trunk of the tree, Draco felt a tinge of regret for ruining the moment. Her glowering was starting to get on Draco’s nerves, and the smile was a nice change from the anger burning in her eyes.

Arrow now returned to the quiver, Granger shouldered the crossbow and pulled out her wand again. “Let’s keep moving,” she said.

They walked for what felt like hours, and by the time Granger gave up on their search, Draco was beginning to feel like an Inferius himself. The trail they’d been following had grown cold after about an hour, but she’d insisted on pushing forward to look for a sign that the dragging footsteps had picked up again somewhere else. They’d never found a set of tracks like the ones near the camp, and Granger was in tears when she suggested they turn around.

On the way back to the campsite, he could hear her sniffling behind him. At one point, he chanced a glance over his shoulder to see tears streaming down her face. She’d lowered her wand, no longer keeping Draco at wand-point, and if it had been his desire to run away, this would have been the perfect opportunity to do so.

He didn’t, though. He followed the tracks they’d left in the dirt on their way out and walked fast enough to make progress but slow enough that she wouldn’t think he was trying to escape. When he reached the tree with the X burned on its bark, he breathed a sigh of relief. Almost there.

Colin Creevey sat in front of a fire over which he held a sizzling frying pan. “They’re back!” he called behind him, and instantly Potter appeared from the tent, his untidy hair looking even more wild in his frenzy.

“Where have you been? You were supposed to be back hours ago!”

Granger put the crossbow on the ground and shook her head, but when she opened her mouth to respond, she only cried harder, her sobs choking her as she released them. They gushed out of her as if she’d held them back the entire return trip to prevent Draco from seeing her so unwound.

Dennis Creevey came running out of the tent in concern, and Potter’s hysteria instantly turned into bewilderment. In dawning horror, he asked, “Did—did you find….”

She shook her bushy head and he sighed in relief, pulling her against his chest and holding her tight to himself.

Draco felt mildly uncomfortable watching the display. Not that he cared if he was intruding. The sound of Granger’s crying just grated on his ears, and Potter was always annoying to be around anyway. 

He retrieved his crossbow and said to Potter, “I’ll go look for rabbits or something.”

Potter merely nodded over Granger’s head, and Draco, feeling much more like himself with the crossbow in his possession again, jauntily strolled back out of the camp.


	4. Chapter 4

“You let him _leave_?” Hermione cried as she finally composed herself and wiped the tears off her face.

“He’ll be back,” Harry said as he joined Colin at the fire. Earlier that morning Colin had found a nest of eggs in a tree not too far from camp while he’d been out searching for Ron. Dennis now gave Harry a plate containing a small handful of the eggs his brother had scrambled for the group. It wasn’t much, but it was more than Harry or Hermione had eaten in days.

Hermione followed him, ignoring the plate that was offered to her. “How can you possibly know that? You let him leave with a weapon, Harry!”

“Look,” he said as he scooped eggs into his mouth with his fingers, “I know you’ve lost some faith in me, but you have to believe me about this one.”

“I haven’t—!” Hermione began, but she cut herself off and pressed her lips together because that wasn’t true. She had lost faith in Harry over the last few days, but that wasn’t his fault. She’d simply lost faith in his ability to make decisions on his own without any outside influence.

“You went out searching for Ron with him—after I told you he was going to go with me, mind!—and, look, you both returned unharmed. You even took his crossbow with you. He could have knocked you out and stolen it from you and left on his own!”

Hermione’s face heated. She wasn’t going to tell Harry that Malfoy _had_ put his hands on his crossbow while they’d been out. The fact that he’d given it back to her only supported Harry’s point that Malfoy could be trusted.

“What could he have possibly told you that would make you believe him like this?” she asked, a hint of desperation tinting her tone.

Harry groaned. “Can we eat some lunch first before we talk about this? I haven’t seen an egg since Kreacher made them the morning we went to the Ministry. Let me enjoy this.”

“You went to the Ministry?” Dennis asked, his eyes wide in awe.

“Hermione will tell you all about it,” Harry said.

Under Dennis’s amazed expression and Colin’s curious one, Hermione’s heart thawed a little. She’d only known terror for so long now—or what had felt like so long. They’d been on the run for three weeks now. Those twenty-one days had felt like a lifetime. Dennis and Colin had been on their own just as long as Harry, Hermione, and Ron had, and yet fourteen-year-old Dennis had managed to cling to the exuberance that had identified him at Hogwarts. Seeing the admiration in his eyes as Hermione told the story about their infiltration of the Ministry (while editing out mentions of the Horcrux; she simply told them she, Harry, and Ron had been searching for “clues”) almost made her feel normal. A little less dead inside, at least. And she’d almost forgotten that Ron was missing.

The Creevey brothers both peppered her with questions when she finished her tale, but she stood up, stabbing Harry with a significant gaze. “Not right now, boys. Harry and I have some things to discuss.”

Harry shook his head, but he followed Hermione into the tent and retrieved his bag from under his bunk.

“Malfoy gave me this,” he said, handing her a plain wooden box kept closed with a latch as they sat down.

Hermione opened it and palmed the small, half-empty vial of potion. She never thought she would see that molten gold color again.

“It’s Felix Felicis!”

“Vol—”

Hermione’s heart seized.

“I mean, You-Know-Who’s been using the Malfoys’ home as a base of operations, so sometimes Death Eaters stay there. His mum brewed this for him to help him escape Malfoy Manor. As a token of good faith, Malfoy gave the rest of the potion to me.”

“But… but why?” she asked, looking back up at Harry and bewildered by Malfoy’s gesture.

“He wants to see You-Know-Who defeated to save his family.” He took the vial back from her and stared into its depths. The potion seemed to seethe with life and light, like a precious metal melted down and ready to be cast into a mold. “What’s left of this could give me six hours of good luck. Six hours, Hermione! It’s a chance.”

Hermione smiled at Harry’s optimism, and she hated to kill the hope in his eyes, but he needed to be realistic. “For what? To find a Horcrux? And then what? We still won’t know how to destroy it. We may not even have the means to destroy it.”

“No, don’t you see? It’s a chance when I face off against You-Know-Who—”

Alarmed, Hermione stood up from the bunk. “Who said anything about you facing off against You-Know-Who?”

“I—” his cheeks burned, and the regret was obvious on his face. “Come on, Hermione. It’s always had to be me. The prophecy, the Horcruxes, in the end, it will just be me and him, just like it was in the beginning.”

“We were going to find a way around that!”

Now Harry smiled as if her dreams were too big for reality. “This is my way around that. This is my best chance. Maybe Felix will help me know how to defeat You-Know-Who once and for all, and maybe it will get me out of the encounter alive.”

“Don’t talk like that, Harry!” Hermione cried, turning away from her friend and his damned potion. “Not after Ron—”

Harry stood up and put his hand on her arm in a soothing gesture, but it only reminded her of the ephemeral nature of life. They walked a fine line between living and dying—they had ever since they were children—and at the moment, the line seemed blurred and thin. Like the walking dead, they moved through the world surviving, not living, always one step closer to dying. Eventually, like the Inferi that had attacked them the day before, death would find them.

Who was she to deny Harry his hope? What else did he have?

“Hey, Hermione?”

“Hm?”

“I think you’ve been wearing the Horcrux long enough. Let me put it in my mokeskin pouch.”

There was concern clear on Harry’s face, not an accusation, but Hermione’s defenses rose all the same. She clutched at the locket through her shirt, a snappy remark on the tip of her tongue until….

She recalled her previous lingering suspicion that You-Know-Who had been influencing Harry’s thoughts through their connection from Harry’s scar, but what if the soul fragment trapped inside the locket had been influencing her? The reason they’d alternated wearing the Horcrux was because it noticeably deteriorated the mood of whoever wore it, and Hermione had worn it longer than usual. Not to mention the traumatic events they’d experienced the day before.

Still… something told her that she needed to keep the locket, that Harry only wanted to take it from her because he thought she was emotional and incompetent, and that thought was what made Hermione pull the chain over her head and hand it to Harry.

He withdrew the mokeskin pouch gifted to him by Hagrid for his birthday from the neck of his shirt and deposited the locket inside. “It will be safe there. No one but me will be able to take it out. I don’t know why we didn’t do that before,” he said in a musing tone.

Hermione had no answer. She was too busy breathing deeply for what felt like the first time in days. Her shoulders no longer sagged with an invisible burden, and she no longer saw death as something that lingered inside her.

They exited the tent together to see Malfoy sitting at the fire with Colin and Dennis.

“Look, Malfoy brought squirrels!” Dennis said, lifting one of the dead critters in the air to show Harry and Hermione. He turned back to Malfoy who sat on his left. “What does a squirrel taste like?”

“Like the fungus between a house-elf’s toes. You wouldn’t like it,” he replied in a sardonic tone.

As Harry laughed, Hermione frowned. Malfoy saluted her with a half-skinned squirrel, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

She crossed her arms, refusing to be impressed that Malfoy had returned (and with lunch to boot), but she couldn’t help her curiosity as she joined everyone else around the fire. Maybe one day she would need to know how to skin a squirrel herself.

\- - -

When the arrow struck the center of the X, Hermione didn’t celebrate this time. Malfoy’s gaze tickled down her back, like an unwanted touch. She shivered and turned, lowering the crossbow as she did so.

“Good,” he said. No smirks. No unnecessary comments. No insults. “Now you’re ready to try a moving target. Preferably not me.”

“That would be a waste of an arrow,” she said as she yanked her own out of the tree.

It had been a long day. After lunch, they’d gone searching through the woods again—Hermione with Malfoy in tow while Harry and Colin searched alone and Dennis kept an eye on camp—but no new clues had turned up. There were no more tracks, no blood, nothing to signify a man had been injured and taken by a mob of the undead.

Hermione had wanted to spend the rest of the evening in her bunk alone, but she couldn’t do that with Malfoy around. Instead, she’d taken him back to the tree where he’d first taught her to use the crossbow early that morning, and in the light of some bluebell flames contained in jars, Hermione had practiced with the weapon.

She needed to be strong, if only so Malfoy wouldn’t see her weak.

“We’ll try moving targets tomorrow when there’s more light,” he said.

Hermione didn’t say anything in response, mostly because she was too busy thinking. “How do we know,” she said, after several moments staring out into the darkness beyond the light from her tiny flames, “that you aren’t going to take us straight to You-Know-Who? How can you possibly expect us to trust you?”

He could have replied with a sarcastic remark. He could have insulted her. Instead, he considered her, his eyes sparkling with the reflections of the flames. She didn’t look away from him because she didn’t want to miss that tiny tell that would signify he was lying to her. If he even had a tell. As skilled an Occlumens as he was, according to Harry, lying probably came naturally to him.

“You don’t know,” he replied. “You can’t know. How could you? I don’t expect any of you to trust me; I just hope that you will.”

“That’s not good enough,” she replied, her brow creasing.

“It’s all I have. You’ve taken everything else from me. My wand, my crossbow, all my belongings. I can only tell you what I told Potter: I spent all last year trying to save my parents’ lives, and that’s what I’m trying to do now. My mother sent me away, and I want to make sure she didn’t do so in vain. She and my father may already be dead; I won’t know until the war is over, and I know I’ll suffer the consequences of my actions when it is, but only one outcome ends with me keeping my life. I want the same thing I did last year: to live.”

To live. Not to survive. The distinction was important to Hermione. What they were doing now was surviving, not living. Even without the Horcrux around her neck, she felt the inevitable lurking on the edges of her thoughts, that death would come for all of them, and perhaps to Harry, Hermione—and Ron—before most. 

She wanted to live, too, but she was afraid her destiny was merely to survive.

A glint of silver in the dirt caught her eye as it flickered in time with the dancing, jarred flames.

“What’s that?” she asked as she moved toward the sparkle.

Malfoy watched her, his brows drawn above the bridge of his nose in confusion.

Her heart sped up as she picked up the Deluminator, the only object of its kind, which had been left to Ron in Dumbledore’s last will and testament. Two happy tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, and before Malfoy knew what was happening, she took off back to camp to show Harry.

\- - -  
_September 24th, 1997_  
\- - -

Hermione had hardly slept the night before in anticipation of sunrise. She’d even moved her pillow to the opposite end of her bunk to better see outside the tent flaps throughout the night, and as soon as the sky turned from black to deep, Ravenclaw blue, she threw off her blankets and put on her shoes.

The pallet on the floor Harry had put together for Malfoy (to which Hermione had objected until Harry had made the point that it was better to keep Malfoy inside the tent where the four of them could keep an eye on him) was empty, the blanket and pillow both askew as if Malfoy had been in a hurry to leave. When she put her hand under her pillow and found the Deluminator missing, she put two and two together and raced out of the tent, her wand already in hand and her anger simmering beneath the surface.

To her surprise, she found Malfoy with Harry looking over a map next to the fire, which reflected off the Deluminator in Harry’s hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

Both men jumped nearly a foot in the air, their eyes wide as they turned to Hermione. They looked like children who had been caught sneaking pumpkin pasties before dinner.

“Malfoy found us a map of the county. I was just trying to organize a search.”

“Where did Malfoy find a map?” Hermione asked, trying to contain her anger before it boiled over. Without the Horcrux, it was much easier to gain control of her emotions.

Harry ruffled his hair ruefully. “We, er, went to check out a nearby village a couple miles’ walk from here. Thought we could find something to help us look for Ron. Flashlights, binoculars, something.” Here he stopped and looked away from Hermione’s face.

“And?”

“The place was overrun with Inferi and Dementors,” Malfoy answered, his face grim. “We looked as best as we could in the dark, but we didn’t see Weasley there. We didn’t see anyone. Alive, at least.”

He grimaced and looked back at the map, and Hermione realized both of them were avoiding her reaction. They had been planning to leave to search for Ron without her. At first, when she’d seen that Malfoy’s pallet was empty and the Deluminator missing, she’d assumed he’d taken it and run, but this was almost worse for her best friend to leave her out of something so important.

But instead of arguing about it, Hermione only trembled, fear overtaking the sting of betrayal. How had You-Know-Who’s Inferi army grown so quickly? And _here_ of all places, out in the countryside? Her trembling increased as she wondered at the possibility of You-Know-Who being nearby. A couple miles wasn’t very far….

“That was foolish of you to leave in the middle of the night like that, but I’m glad you’re okay, Harry,” she said, ignoring Malfoy completely.

He merely rolled his eyes.

“Come take a look,” Harry said, making room at his right for her to take a seat.

They spent the next twenty minutes going over a plan, and as the sun finally breached the horizon, shedding watery light through the trees, Colin joined them.

This time Malfoy partnered with Harry while Hermione and Colin searched alone.

“Meet back here in three hours. Send up red sparks if you find trouble,” Harry reminded them. “Green if you find something useful. Gold for you either way, Dennis. Got that?”

They all nodded, Dennis with more enthusiasm than anyone else.

Harry and Malfoy went back in the direction the pack of Inferi had originally taken Ron, back to the tree where Hermione had found the Deluminator. Hermione watched them go as she gathered her beaded bag and shouldered the crossbow.

“What do you think, Colin?” she asked. “Is Harry right to trust him?”

“I don’t know, but I trust Harry,” he replied. He ruffled Dennis’s hair as he departed, leaving Hermione alone and unsatisfied.

\- - -

Hermione’s heart hammered painfully in her chest. The trees loomed ominously over her, casting long shadows that played tricks on her mind. Harry had assigned her the path in the direction of the village he and Malfoy had visited the night before. Looking at her copy of the map, the village was in between her search area and Colin’s. She might not find the overrun town, but something from the village might find her.

Every chirping bird, every rustle of leaves, every breath she took startled her. It was difficult searching for signs of Ron when she was so busy jumping at every noise. Odd how much safer she’d felt with Malfoy. But perhaps her anger towards him—and Harry, honestly—had distracted her from her fear. Now, without the Horcrux amplifying her negative emotions and without anything for her to focus her energies on, her mind was free to wander to the dark spaces in between the trees and in the bushes.

A nervous giggle fell from her lips. Like Voldemort would be hiding in a bush!

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, an explosion of gold sparks went off in the sky with a soft bang that echoed through the trees.

She took off running back to camp, wondering, hoping it wasn’t true… had she said that thought out loud?


	5. Chapter 5

As she drew close to the perimeter of the wards, Hermione slowed down, keeping as much as possible to the trees for cover. She found Colin just outside camp, behind a bush over which he was peering carefully.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice lowered in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Where’s Dennis?”

The campsite was empty. The fire they’d built early that morning had turned into embers without someone to tend to it and prod it back to life, but besides the light smoke that drifted from the embers, the camp was still.

Maybe Dennis had been spooked and shot off the sparks in his alarm? Maybe he was hiding inside the tent in his embarrassment for erroneously drawing everyone back to camp?

Everyone… except Harry and Malfoy? Hermione’s heart seized. “Where’s Harry?” she asked, turning to Colin.

His eyes widened, and he pointed over the bush while he ducked even lower.

Instinctively, Hermione did the same, only allowing her eyes to extend beyond the greenery.

On the other side of the camp, just outside the wards where Ron had been dragged away, Fenrir Greyback stepped out of the line of trees. Harry and Malfoy, whose torsos and arms were bound with rope, were shoved down to the ground behind him by a man Hermione had never seen before. Several more men and a woman followed them, circling their hostages as they looked to Greyback for guidance.

“Snatchers,” Colin whispered. At Hermione’s confused look, he explained: “Dennis and I ran into a group of them once. They’re vigilantes out looking for runaway Muggleborns and blood traitors avoiding the Ministry. They turn them into the Ministry for money.”

Hermione covered her mouth in shock. “There’s a 200,000 Galleon price on Harry’s head!” Her mind raced for a solution. How could they save Harry and get out of this situation unharmed? She pulled the crossbow off her shoulder and looked through the scope for a better view. Her vision wobbled until she found Greyback, whose teeth bared in a growl as he kicked at Malfoy with a booted foot. A murmur of voices floated back to her ears, but the words were indistinguishable.

Before she lowered the crossbow, another movement caught her eye, and she swung the weapon to her left to see Dennis’s head poking out of the tent’s entrance.

“Dennis is safe!” she said to Colin. “He’s behind the wards.”

He sighed in relief before straightening his posture again. “I have an idea,” he said.

Together they quickly discussed their next steps, and then Hermione opened her beaded bag and pulled out three items.

“Here,” she said, shoving a wand into Colin’s hand. “It’s Malfoy’s. If they’ve taken Harry’s he might need a substitute, and it probably won’t hurt for you to have two on you. Just in case.” Then she gave him a tangle of flesh-colored string, stuffing her own Extendable Ear in her jacket pocket.

He lifted Malfoy’s wand. “What about you?”

She smiled and raised the crossbow once again. “I’ve got this. Good luck.”

They took off in separate directions, Colin to the left following the line of trees around the backside of their campsite and Hermione to the right.

If her heart had been a normal hammer before when she’d left camp earlier that morning, now it had turned into a jackhammer, trying to drill its way out of her body. The sound of its pounding echoed into her ears like drums of war.

Only as she inched closer to the Snatchers and their captives did her mind take over her instincts to flee. Surprisingly, though she was still learning how to wield it, the weight of the crossbow in her hands made her feel strong. An arrow ripping through flesh was the last thing Fenrir Greyback and his cohorts would expect.

When she got close enough, she took the Extendable Ear out of her pocket and pointed it in the direction of the Snatchers. Greyback’s voice entered her ear loud and clear, as if only a couple feet of distance separated them instead of several yards.

Greyback kicked Malfoy in the shin, the sound of boot meeting bone—not to mention Malfoy’s loud groan—making Hermione wince.

“Who shot the sparks up, Malfoy? And don’t tell me you don’t know. It’s not a coincidence they went up right before we found you.”

“Didn’t know you were capable of deductive reasoning. Thought you were an idiot, myself,” Malfoy said through clenched teeth as his breath raked out of him with a worrisome rattle. He might have broken some ribs, Hermione thought.

Greyback grunted. “Do your parents know you’re a blood traitor? I can just imagine the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face when he finds out his son died protecting Harry Potter.”

“Piss off!”

“Or maybe your parents are blood traitors, too. If they are, the Dark Lord would want to know about it, don’tcha think?”

Malfoy began to struggle against his bonds, and by the grimace on his face, he was injuring himself further in the process.

“Pick up Potter! Someone go find his camp!” Greyback demanded of his lackeys.

Here, Hermione looked away to concentrate on loading the crossbow. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, giving her the strength to cock the string in her first arduous attempt. She ignored the stinging feeling in her fingers as she nocked an arrow and looked through the scope, steadying herself so she could aim true.

Two of the Snatchers stood Harry onto his feet, and his face was swollen and blue from some serious punches. Hermione’s finger clenched over the trigger, testing the pull. She waited until Greyback had his back turned for a wider target, and then— 

The arrow sliced through the air at first, but the distance hindered its flight. Instead of burrowing into his shoulder, the arrow miraculously found its way into Greyback’s hand. He screamed and doubled over for a moment as the other Snatchers gathered around him in concern.

“Get away from me, you idiots! We’re under attack!” He turned and looked directly in Hermione’s direction.

Hands suddenly shaking, she tried to cock the crossbow again, but her trembling made her fingers slip on the string. She yelped when she was suddenly yanked away from the tree by her hair, the crossbow falling to the ground only to be picked up by the female Snatcher Hermione had seen.

“Look what we caught!” her captor said as they dragged Hermione back to Greyback.

He bared his rust-colored teeth as his eyes dragged down her body in appreciation. “What nice skin you have, my dear,” he said with a leer. He leaned over her, sniffing her hair. “It will be a pleasure to shred it to bits.”

“NO,” Harry screamed, jerking his body around to free himself from the Snatchers still holding him.

Malfoy looked up at her, his gaze steely, but he nodded in gratitude, and Hermione’s resolve faltered for just a moment. Greyback had called him a blood traitor, so either the werewolf was not privy to Death Eater plans or Malfoy really had defected. Which meant she would need to save Harry _and_ Malfoy along with herself. She couldn’t leave him here with the Snatchers, to be sold back to the Ministry or tortured by Voldemort. It wasn’t in her nature to let an innocent suffer, even if “innocent” was a word that only barely described Malfoy.

Besides, he’d spent two days in their camp… who knew what kind of information he’d picked up? If she let the Snatchers take Malfoy, they would have access to any information he’d obtained about their mission. At the very least, he knew exactly who Harry was traveling with and the sorts of wards that protected their camp from outsiders.

With her capture, the situation had just become more complicated. Where was Colin? He should have made it to this side of the camp by now. He was supposed to Stun and hex the Snatchers from the trees, giving Harry and Malfoy (and now herself) a distraction to attempt an escape.

“Look at this beauty,” the female Snatcher said as she presented Greyback with Malfoy’s crossbow.

He merely grunted in response. “What do I want with that thing? It’s a Muggle weapon. We have no use for it.” As he spoke, he grabbed Hermione’s arrow by the shaft, yanked it out of his palm, and flexed his hand. He smirked at her as his dirty fingernails, groomed into the shape of claws, caught a beam of light filtering through the trees.

She had to stall while they waited for Colin’s first strike.

“You’re going to feel right stupid when we escape.”

She saw Harry and Malfoy’s heads swing in her direction, but she ignored them, focusing instead on Fenrir Greyback and his hopefully fragile ego.

“You’re not going to escape,” he said. His face inched closer to hers until she could feel his rancid breath on her skin. “I’m going to kill you and Malfoy in front of your friends, and then I’m going to give Potter to the Dark Lord.”

“He still won’t make you a Death Eater if you do.”

Greyback drew back, a growl rumbling in his throat.

“You’re not a Death Eater, right?” she taunted. “I don’t see a Mark on your arm. And if you _were_ a Death Eater, you probably wouldn’t be hanging around riff raff like this.”

An array of hisses and objections sounded from the Snatchers around them. The woman pointed the crossbow at Hermione while the Snatcher holding her clamped her arm tighter.

“Besides, you don’t want to kill me,” she continued.

“Why the hell not?” 

“I’m Undesirable Number Two,” she lied. “Do you know much money I’d fetch if you turned me in?”

Here Greyback paused, his gaze becoming speculative. As he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook, movement caught Hermione’s eye, and for a moment, her heart soared at the thought of Colin’s rescue.

But it wasn’t Colin she saw. From behind the wards, part of the tent collapsed and Dennis appeared from under the material carrying one of the tent poles like a baseball bat. Hermione began to panic. If she, Malfoy, and Harry couldn’t prevent being captured by Greyback’s people, what could fourteen-year-old Dennis do?

“AND MALFOY!” she said, her voice loud to draw attention away from the campsite in anticipation of Dennis breaching the wards. “You shouldn’t kill him!”

“Why not!” Greyback roared.

“Don’t you think _Voldemort_ should deal with him instead?”

The reaction was instantaneous.

“She said the Taboo!” someone shrieked amid several gasps. A moment later, all of the Snatchers save for the woman and Greyback cut and ran into the woods.

Then she heard a popping sound similar to someone Apparating, which caused a cascade of pops to surround them. Screams from the fleeing Snatchers followed soon after.

“GO BACK, DENNIS,” Hermione yelled when the first Inferius dragged itself out of the woods on twisted legs.

A spell shot through the air, slicing through the ropes that bound Harry, and Colin ran out into the open, throwing Malfoy’s wand Harry’s way— 

Dennis, disregarding Hermione’s order, smashed Greyback in the back of the head with the tent pole, which did nothing except anger the werewolf further— 

Two Inferius converged on Malfoy, who inched along on the ground trying to escape while still restrained with rope—

Hermione turned her wand on Malfoy and cried, _“Diffindo!”_

The spell cut through his bindings—but also through his shoulder. He hissed in pain as he stood on shaky legs and picked up the crossbow the female Snatcher had dropped when two Inferi converged on her. Some of the other Snatchers that had fled as soon as Hermione spoke the Taboo had come running back out of the trees as they were chased by Inferi. The mayhem escalated as everyone remembered or found their wands and began shooting ineffectual spells at the undead.

Hermione conjured flames and set anything she could find to contain them on fire: a thicket, a pile of twigs, a dead branch on the ground. She’d lost track of Harry, Colin, and Dennis in the chaos, but Malfoy stood at her back, shooting arrows at Greyback and then summoning the ammunition back to him without the use of his wand.

Had she not been fighting for her life, she might have been impressed by his magical skill.

“We need to get behind the wards!” she cried. “The Taboo was said outside; they shouldn’t have access!”

“NO,” Malfoy roared. “We have to stop Greyback! The Dark Lord can’t know I’m with Potter!”

Hermione swung around, a trail of fire slinging out of her wand and igniting three Inferi lurching toward them. “You are going to get yourself killed!”

 _“Then leave me!”_ He took off after the werewolf, who was trying to shake an Inferius off his back, and Hermione let out a groan of frustration.

But then she saw the rest of the tent collapse as Colin and Dennis disassembled it, and her heart soared. They just needed to find Harry and Malfoy and they could make their escape.

She swung her wand in a circle around herself while keeping a steady stream of flames shooting out of the tip and navigated around the battlezone. The odor of burnt flesh and smoke hovered in the air, ruining her visibility and making her search more difficult than before. More than once, Hermione only just dodged a spell in time as it rocketed past her head. She could either defend herself with a charm or she could keep the Inferi at bay with fire. She couldn’t do both, but luck was clearly on her side.

“Harry!” she called into the fog. _“Harry!”_

She found him backed against a tree trying to keep an Inferius at bay with the tent pole Dennis had used as a weapon earlier. Flicking her wrist, her flame rope cracked through the air, striking the undead in the back like a whip. Instantly, the flames caught, and the Inferius fell to the ground with an angry gurgling noise as its body burned.

“Thanks,” Harry said breathlessly. “Where is everyone else?”

“I think Malfoy’s trying to kill Greyback, and Colin and Dennis are packing. We need to get out of here!” She coughed as the smoke from the smoldering Inferius coated her throat, making speech challenging and breathing painful.

She and Harry re-entered the fray, looking for their friends until Colin, carrying an armful of fabric and the rest of the tent poles, backed into them and fell to the ground, incapacitated by his own fit of coughing. 

“Dennis… is coming….” he rasped, pointing a shaking finger behind him.

Both Harry and Hermione watched apprehensively as Dennis wove his way around fires and over bodies that still twitched with life. He stumbled as a hand grabbed at his ankle, toppling him to the ground with a cry of fear.

The Inferius crawled up Dennis’s body, and before anything but a scream of terror could leave Hermione’s mouth, the undead sank its teeth into Dennis’s flesh where neck met shoulder. The cry that had been ripped out of Dennis’s throat was abruptly silenced, and even though it was clear that the life was leaving his body faster than his blood could, the Inferius continued to bite, to rip, to chew, until its face was covered in Dennis’s gore.

Colin was the first to move, picking himself up and running to his brother’s side with a wail, heedless of the monster still consuming his body.

The Inferius suddenly fell backwards, flung to the ground by the force of an arrow plunging through its forehead. The sight of the bright green fletching marking the spot where the Inferius lay shook Hermione out of her shock. Vision blurry from tears, she ran to Colin and Dennis, only to stop cold in her tracks at the horror before her.

The Inferius hadn’t been defeated, of course. Only fire could stop them. It stared up at Hermione, its hands clawing jerkily at the ground, clearly weakened. But it was the color of its hair that immediately caught her attention. A fiery shade of red that Hermione had seen almost everyday for the past six years. And then its eyes—glazed over with cobwebby cataracts that diluted their color, but she would know those blue eyes anywhere. It’s skin was pale as death—because it _was_ dead, technically—but dark freckles still stood out against the sickly pallor, especially around the bridge of its long nose.

“No. No, no, no, NO!” a male voice shouted behind her.

Hermione cried in earnest as Harry approached and saw what she’d seen: a Ron Weasley who had crossed the border that separated the living and the dead but still managed to walk the blurry line as a reanimated corpse.

They had found Ron at last.

Malfoy’s voice penetrated her clawing grief, simply stating, “We have to go. _Now_.”

She didn’t listen. Didn’t Malfoy know that Harry and Hermione’s world had fallen apart? Didn’t he know that Harry and Hermione were nothing— _nothing_ —without Ron in their group? That Ron held them together? That he was their anchor?

Clearly not or he wouldn’t have grabbed Hermione’s upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She struggled against the arm restraining her and screamed when she felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition.

“We can’t leave! NO. RON, NO!”

Her protests went unheard or ignored. Before darkness obscured her vision, her last view of Ron the Inferius was him clawing his way back to Dennis’s body to continue his interrupted meal.


	6. Chapter 6

  
  


The stiff breeze carried the scent of salt as it battered against Hermione’s weak body and dried the tears on her face. Her skin felt tight and cold, and her breath filtered through her lungs with more ease than it had in the smoky woods of moments ago.

She blinked at the sky, blinded by the wash of white-gray that signified rain, as more tears fell down the sides of her face.

Sitting up was more painful than it should have been, especially when the movement triggered what would hopefully be a final coughing attack.

“Where are we?” Harry asked, voice hoarse, his eyes red-rimmed from either smoke or tears.

Malfoy pulled his crossbow into his lap with a wince, inspecting it for damage as he answered. “Wales. The Pembrokeshire coast, actually.”

“What—what happened to Ron?” Colin asked, his cheeks also soaked with his grief.

Hermione simultaneously wanted to hear an explanation and wanted to run as far away from one as possible. How could he be an Inferius unless You-Know-Who had been present at the time of his death to turn him into one? The thought that You-Know-Who could have been so near to their camp, and that he had desecrated Ron’s body in such a way, sent body-wracking shivers through her, until her teeth rattled so much she could hardly hear Malfoy’s answer.

“I told you,” he said, concentrating on the crossbow as he ran his fingers along the frame and tested the trigger. “He was bitten.”

“He shouldn’t have become one of them from a bite!” she snapped at him. “They’re Inferi: dead, enchanted puppets! They’re not zombies!”

“It doesn’t matter what they are,” he replied testily. “The enchantment has taken a life of its own. The Dark Lord has become so powerful, he doesn’t need to cast a spell on every corpse he creates. He’s so strong, anyone killed by an Inferi becomes enchanted. That’s why the army is growing. They’re adding to their own numbers.”

Besides the occasional sniffle from Colin, silence met that announcement.

“And you didn’t bother to tell us this sooner?” Harry asked, his normally warm, green eyes flinty behind his gore-speckled glasses.

“There didn’t seem to be a point,” Malfoy said to his crossbow. “If you’re dead, you’re dead. Who cares what happens to you afterward?”

Hermione couldn’t believe his gall, his lack of compassion, the absence of his common sense. No, actually, she _could_. That’s what was so infuriating about this new information. She knew Malfoy couldn’t be trusted, she knew he couldn’t have told Harry the whole truth, and they’d been blindsided by his true nature anyway. As if they hadn’t known Draco Malfoy for the last six years!

She stood up and stormed off, only to be met by a cliff edge that overlooked a sandy beach below. She sat down, staring out at the waves lapping against the shore while trying to ignore the lumbering figures that plodded through the sand.

Silence reigned for an uncomfortable length of time. Harry walked by after a few minutes as he established a perimeter with wards, and Colin, still sniffling, sat down beside Hermione, his arm lightly brushing against hers.

Harry and Malfoy left them with their grief, which only made Hermione feel more alone. They might have been their parents’ only children, but Harry had lost a brother just as much as she had. It only seemed right that they should mourn together. For some reason, Hermione couldn’t face him, though. And Colin’s silent presence next to her ate at her conscience.

She struggled with herself until she’d practiced the words enough times in her head to feel comfortable with them, but her body went cold as soon as she opened her mouth. The only thing that made speech easier was avoiding Colin’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Colin,” she blubbered, her tears falling with renewed vigor. “If I hadn’t said the Taboo….”

He made a sound like Crookshanks wheezing over a hairball, and when Hermione looked at him in alarm, she realized he was laughing.

“If—if you hadn’t said the Taboo—we _all_ would have been taken.” The laughter turned into hiccuping sobs, and he buried his face in his arms, which were folded on top of his knees. When he spoke again, his muffled voice wobbled. “Dennis—he never liked to be left out. He only wanted to help. I saw him; he would have attacked Greyback anyway. The Snatchers, the Ministry, the Death Eaters, they might have done something worse to him.”

Hermione couldn’t imagine anything worse than the fate that had befallen innocent, exuberant Dennis Creevey. Had he only died, the manner of his death would have been horrific enough as it was, but for him to become as enchanted as the mob that attacked them… for his body to be reanimated with magic to fight for Voldemort’s cause…. What could possibly be worse than that?

She didn’t understand, but she didn’t push the issue. Colin blaming her wasn’t necessary for Hermione to blame herself.

\- - -

Draco stayed out of everyone’s hair, but the grief coated the air, made him uncomfortable, left a bitter, salty taste in his mouth. Well, the salt came from the breeze blowing in off the sea, but the volume of tears he’d seen shed that afternoon could have formed a brand new ocean on top of the cliff.

Looking for an escape as well as something to do, Draco took his crossbow out into the grasslands. It wasn’t the first time he found himself on this side of the country, which is why it was the first place he’d thought to go, so he knew how difficult it would be to find food. If he was lucky, maybe he would stumble upon some rabbits. If he was unlucky, a rat or some mice.

The lack of edible wildlife allowed time for Draco’s mind to wander. Greyback had gotten away in the scuffle, and it wouldn’t be long before he reported his findings to the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord would certainly be displeased that Potter had escaped capture by Greyback and his band of Snatchers, but perhaps he would be more forgiving toward the werewolf when he learned that Draco was traveling with Potter…. Perhaps the Dark Lord would choose to punish Draco’s parents instead.

He didn’t want to imagine the disappointment or disgust on his father’s face when he found out. His mother? Well, he didn’t know what her reaction would be. Is this what she’d wanted from him when she’d sent him away? Did his father know she’d sent him away, or did he think Draco had deserted them? He didn’t know. And he wouldn’t know until this war was over. If any of them were still alive by then.

He sat under a lone tree, its branches already bare in preparation for winter. _Too soon, tree,_ he thought. _Patience will be rewarded._ It was something his father used to always say to him as a child when something didn’t go his way.

After a while, Potter joined him, something clearly on his mind.

“Part of me wants to believe you had something to do with Greyback finding us,” he said.

Draco scowled.

“Maybe that whole blood traitor business was an act between the two of you. Maybe you planned it from the beginning to find us and hand us over to his Snatchers.”

Draco scowled harder. “What’s your point?”

Potter ruffled his shaggy hair, revealing his infamous scar, though he didn’t seem to be conscious of his own actions. “My point is I don’t think you’re like that. You had your chance—twice—to do away with your enemies and make You-Know-Who’s life easier. You didn’t do it. You hesitated. And this morning, you took the more difficult route.”

“Which route was that?” he spat, bored of Potter’s vision of heroics. Draco wasn’t a hero. He did what was best for himself—whatever it took to save himself and the people he loved.

“You fought back. You could have saved your own skin, but you came back for us. You got us out of there. Thank you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” As stupid as Potter sounded trying to turn Draco into some kind of knight-in-shining-armor Gryffindor, Draco couldn’t help but feel somewhat pleased. Potter could turn Draco into a hero whenever he wanted if it meant Draco could stay with their group and help them. And now that Greyback knew he was with Potter, there would certainly be a price on his head as well. They were safer together in numbers.

“You should get Hermione to look at your shoulder. She’s good with healing charms, and she has all the potions in her bag,” Potter said before leaving him alone.

Draco frowned and examined his shoulder as best as he could. He’d forgotten that Granger had cut him open when she’d released his bindings. The wound no longer gushed with blood, but it still oozed, and the material of his robes had dried to his skin.

When he stood up, his ribs ached where Greyback had kicked him, sending a shooting pain through his chest that made breathing feel like getting stabbed, and when he picked up his crossbow, his shoulder suddenly stung. Annoyed, Draco wished Potter hadn’t said anything about the cut. Awareness of his injuries had made him more aware of the pain as well.

As he walked back to camp—if he could call it a camp when the tent had been left behind in the woods—he saw Potter lean over Granger and say something to her. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, her bushy hair bouncing as she spun back around when their gazes met. Potter joined Creevey in putting together a fire to help ward off the chill, but without the cover of the tent to protect them from the wind, Draco could tell it would be a cold, miserable day, no matter how high they built the fire up.

Granger scowled when he sat down beside her, but she didn’t leave. For a moment, he looked out at the sea. The waves crashed against the shore, and Draco wondered how they would hold up against a storm if they were caught in one. He kicked himself for leaving the tent behind, but he’d only had a moment to think, one moment to grab Potter, Granger, and Creevey before Apparating to safety.

The silence lingered between them until Granger stopped wrestling with herself and pulled her beaded bag out of her pocket. She dug around inside for a moment and then said, “Harry wants me to give you this.”

Draco had forgotten all about his wand. A tiny part of him had thought he’d never see it again. Instead of making a big deal out of their reunion, he put his wand in his pocket and simply said, “Thank you.”

“Harry wants me to fix your shoulder, too.”

“Do you always do what Potter says?”

“It seems like it lately,” she grumbled. “But it’s my fault you’re injured.” She opened up the beaded bag again, and Draco’s eyebrows rose when her arm disappeared past her elbow as she reached inside. She pulled out a roll of gauze and a brown plastic bottle. “Turn like this,” she said, nudging his uninjured arm.

They sat face to face on the ground, and Draco had the opportunity to inspect her in a way he’d never been able to before. With her attention diverted to opening the brown bottle, he scrutinized her.

The freckles—or smudged dirt—that dotted the bridge of her nose were lighter in color and less dense than Weasley’s had been, but they were still discernable against her brown skin. Given enough time, he probably could have counted them all, though he would feel foolish doing so if they disappeared after she washed her face. Her hair surrounded her head, frizzy and thick like a lion’s mane. Even in its chaotic depths, he could see that several locks had been singed off. Possibly from stray spells? More likely from the fire she’d wielded against the Inferi. Her clothes, too, were dirty and burned in places. Draco wondered if he looked as rough as she did.

Her expression was one of total concentration as she soaked some gauze in the liquid contained in the brown bottle, and then she looked up at him, redirecting that concentration to Draco in a way that made his heart speed up.

“Could you bare your shoulder?” she asked, and even though she spoke in a straightforward and clinical tone, Draco couldn’t help but imagine an underlying (and reluctant) desire on her part. Ridiculous of him to let his thoughts wander in such a way.

He unbuttoned his robes just enough to pull the material away from his shoulder, which was somewhat difficult due to the crusted blood molding fabric to wound.

Granger used her wand to dampen the material and gently pull it away from the cut, which, from what Draco could tell, didn’t look too terribly deep, even if it had bled a lot. She patted his wound with the dampened gauze, and he jumped, shocked by the sudden sting.

“What is that?” he hissed.

Without looking up, she said, “Hydrogen peroxide. It’s a Muggle antiseptic.”

“Muggle?” he repeated in disgust.

Her eyes cut up to him for just a moment, her disapproval quite clear, before she returned to her task. “Yes, Muggle. I’m saving the potions for emergencies. This will do just fine for minor injuries.”

He doubted that, but he didn’t comment lest she slice him open again.

“You could have just left me there,” he said after several moments of silence.

“That would have been cruel. Besides, you knew too much about our camp and our mission. I couldn’t let Greyback take you to the Ministry.”

“I don’t know anything about your mission,” he disagreed.

“Sure you do. You know we’re out to defeat You-Know-Who.” She smiled slightly and then sobered up again just as quickly.

Draco wondered at the dichotomy between her two answers. Her first reason had been noble, right, so Gryffindor. Her second simply self-serving. A Slytherin reason.

“You could have, too,” she said, her voice low and musing.

He cringed again in anticipation as she doused the gauze in more antiseptic and wiped his skin, though this time it didn’t sting nearly as badly. “Could have what?”

“You could have left us there. You could have saved yourself.”

He mulled over her words, but he didn’t have an answer he could give her. Partially because he didn’t know why he’d done it. He had never in his life risked his neck to save someone else when his own safety could have been guaranteed by leaving someone behind. But he’d saved them. He’d made the conscious decision to pull them out of that situation. Yes, he needed Potter so he could save his parents, but had that been his only motivation?

She continued wiping and dabbing until his shoulder had been cleaned up, seemingly at peace with his lack of explanation. The cut didn’t look quite as dire as it had covered in dried blood and other oozings. Granger affixed fresh gauze to the wound site with some tape she’d retrieved from her magic bag and then patted his shoulder in dismissal.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he wasn’t sure what he saw in hers, but she looked away before he could take a closer look and figure it out.

"How are your ribs?" she asked.

He already knew there was nothing she could about them, and he didn't want her experimenting on him with theory she'd picked up from a book. No thanks. "Never better."

She didn't seem to believe him, but thankfully she let it go. “Well, the cut doesn’t look infected, so that should heal up nicely. It’s your lucky day, Malfoy. You’re going to live.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, her face froze in a stricken expression, and she jumped up from the ground, using her wand to return all her healing items to her bag. She retreated to the hastily thrown together firepit Creevey and Potter had constructed without another word to Draco, which was just fine by him.

Draco had been captured by just the people he’d spent the last three weeks avoiding and attacked by mindless monsters. Potter and Granger hadn't kicked him out of their camp yet, and he might even say they weren't actively opposed to him tagging along with them. The one minor wound he’d received while fighting was in the process of healing, _and_ his crossbow was back in his possession.

His lucky day, indeed.

\- - -  
_September 25th, 1997_  
\- - -

Her dreams swam with images of Ron throughout the years: the eleven-year-old she’d met on the Hogwarts Express, the boy who had knocked out a troll to save her, the friend that had always defended her honor from Snape, from Malfoy, from anyone who dared insult her. What would he do if he was here now?

“You’re right not to trust me,” Ron said with Malfoy’s voice.

Were they?

“But this is no trap.”

Wasn’t it?

Ron morphed into Fenrir Greyback, who spoke with the childish exuberance of an excitable fourteen-year-old. “Do your parents know you’re a blood traitor? I can just imagine the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face when he finds out his son died protecting Harry Potter.”

He had protected Harry, hadn’t he? He’d saved them all when he’d Apparated them away from—

Greyback transformed into Ron again, though he looked slightly off…. His skin was too pale, his eyes clouded over, blood on his lips— 

Hermione sat up, gasping as if she was the one dying, each breath a struggle to suck into her lungs and push back out again.

“Y’alright, Herminy?” a sleepy Colin asked from the pile of dry grass shavings at her feet.

She didn’t answer because she didn’t know.

The four of them had used whatever materials they could find in their environment and in Hermione’s beaded bag for bedding. Then they’d each picked a side of the fire and bedded down for the night like directions on a compass, all four of them hoping desperately for sleep to come to them without a fight.

Hermione wasn’t sure what time she finally passed out. Her brain had buzzed all afternoon and late into the night, swirling with thoughts about Ron, enchanted corpses, and their increasingly dangerous hunt for Horcruxes. Everyone had the potential to become an Inferius, and as Voldemort’s Inferi army grew, that result seemed more and more likely. Especially for them. The idea that life and death couldn’t be separated, that the blurred line between them would never sharpen, filled her with an amplified version of the claustrophobia she had carried with her since their escape from the Ministry at the beginning of the month.

God… had it only been twenty-three days since the Ministry? The last seventy-two hours had felt like a lifetime.

Hermione shoved her cloak aside, grabbed her wand from under the rolled-up sweater she had used as a pillow, and rolled out of her grassy bed. She passed Malfoy asleep on his pallet on her way to check on Harry. Both men were fast asleep, their clenched jaws the only sign that they, too, were having nightmares.

The landscape was covered in a thick layer of fog. Hermione considered taking Malfoy’s crossbow with her, but for some reason, it seemed like a violation. Harry wanted to include him in their group—that was why he’d insisted on giving Malfoy his wand back—and if he was an equal, she couldn’t take his weapons without asking first.

There were too many things they didn’t know, such as the location of the next Horcrux, how to destroy them once they were found, or even whether Malfoy could be trusted. Her anger at him for hiding the truth about the Inferi army’s growth rate had dissipated during the night, and now she wasn’t sure what her objections were based on. Distrust? Fear of the unknown?

They had to decide. Soon. Before they moved on to another location, before they earnestly began their search again, they had to decide whether they could trust Malfoy. Or if they should.

Hermione knew Harry wanted to, and Colin trusted Harry. If she gave in, they could move on with the mission and their lives.

She didn’t want to move on. She wanted to hang onto what the world and her life had been like before the war had started. It was silly, it was childish, and it wasn’t living.

She walked through the grasslands along random paths that only her feet seemed to recognize until her mind and the fog had cleared. By the time she returned to camp, everyone had woken up and begun their day. Colin and Harry sat in the grass around the fire, but there was no sounds or scents of food.

“There you are,” Harry said with a relieved sigh, his expression tight at first but now easing. “We were starting to get worried.”

“I needed to think,” she explained.

“Of course.” As if no other explanation was necessary.

“Where’s Malfoy?” she asked.

Colin pointed toward the cliff edge, along which Malfoy was walking, crossbow in hand.

She took two steps before Harry called her back. “I think we should leave soon,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Even if we had shelter, there’s no food here. It was easier in the forest.”

Easier. The forest. Hermione shivered, dreading going back to an environment where they could be confined by trees and darkness again, but her stomach grumbled at the same time. Roasted squirrel never sounded better than it did just then.

She nodded and then followed Malfoy, the words spoken in her dream echoing through her mind. When he stopped at the edge of the cliff, gazing down at the beach below, she refused to look anywhere but at him. She knew what she would find on the beach, and she didn’t need any more images of them in her head. There were too many reminders that the world was decaying. Avoiding them was the only way she could move on for now.

She stopped a few feet away, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She could do this. Determination to see this mission to its end coursed through her, giving her the courage to admit, even to herself, that she had been wrong.

“Harry is ready to move out,” she said when he finally acknowledged her with a glance. 

He turned his gaze back down to the beach as if cataloguing the slow-roaming figures below, counting them, analyzing the speed of their migration in order to assess the urgency of their presence. The Inferi hadn’t sensed them yet, so they still had time. There really wasn’t any reason for them to leave so soon, especially not while Harry, Colin, and Hermione were still grieving. They might have been able to rest for the rest of the morning at least, but food was necessary for survival and living.

“Are you?” he asked.

“I will be soon. We have one more matter to discuss,” she replied.

When he looked at her again, she saw foreboding in his eyes, the inevitability of the future there in the set of his lips.

He was one of the walking dead. Just like Harry. Just like her. Not quite like Ron or the Inferi. He saw the futility of life in a world where Voldemort ruled, and he was willing to fight for his right to not just survive, but live.

And that would make him an invaluable asset to their group.

As he followed her back to camp, she allowed herself a small smile. And when she explained to Harry the necessity of keeping Malfoy and Colin in their group, the necessity of telling them about the Horcruxes, she smiled wider.

She didn’t know if this was the right decision; she just knew it was the only one. As Harry began to describe their mission to the newcomers in detail, for the first time in ages, Hermione allowed herself to hope.

\- - -  
END PART ONE  
\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/14/2016  
> I have edited this chapter just a tiny bit. In the original version, Draco and Co. managed to escape the forest with the tent, but it doesn't seem realistic to me that Draco would remember (or that he was physically _capable_ of grabbing) the tent before Apparating everyone to safety. Plus, I have the intention of expanding this story, and what I have in store for the next chapter would require the group to not have shelter. (Think the first episode of season 3 of TWD, when Team Family is moving from house to house, shelter to shelter before they find the prison.)
> 
> I hope you'll stick around to see what else is in store for Harry, Hermione, Colin, and Draco in this story! :)
> 
> Also, The Pembrokeshire Coast is where the Shell Cottage scenes of Deathly Hallows were filmed, if you want a more accurate visual of where the group is in this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

  


PART TWO  
\- - -  
_April 11th, 1998_  
\- - -

As screams and the whizzing bang of spellfire broke out around them, Hermione slipped in and out of consciousness. Her arm throbbed and her energy flagged, draining out of her onto the floor. Something wet and sticky dripped off her fingers. She didn’t want to open her eyes to the chaos.

Instead, she cringed into the set of arms that held her up, her body jostling as her support attacked back with spell after spell.

“Stop them, Draco!”

Bellatrix’s strident words forced Hermione’s eyes open. Harry, in front of her but off to the side, jabbed his wand, sending a pulse of red light at Draco, who grit his teeth as he put up a shield spell, deflecting Harry’s attack. Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange were spread out across the drawing room, pushing Harry back.

“Are you with me, Hermione?” Colin asked into her ear.

She nodded but her legs buckled and her vision went black as she tried to stand on her own.

“Harry! We’ve got to go!”

“Where’s Dobby?”

The house-elf in question reappeared next to Harry out of thin air as if summoned.

His squeaky voice wobbled out, “Harry Potter, we must leave!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Bellatrix yelled as she reached into her robes and charged around the fallen chandelier.

A knife sliced through the air toward Hermione, but Colin pushed her to the ground, collapsing on top of her. A moment later, Hermione’s whole body throbbed as the sensation of being squeezed through a too-small tube overcame her. When the sensation eased, they found themselves on a grassy slope overlooking a beach, a shelled cottage perched at the peak.

Another set of arms lifted her up. Dean held her close as her body began to shake and Luna ran her fingers soothingly through Hermione’s tangled hair. She blinked into the darkness as bodies rose from the ground: Harry’s first, then Colin’s.

“Where’s Draco?” she asked.

The boys shared a look with one another. “He attacked us, Hermione. He stayed behind.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then she shook her head, her vision going in and out as she drifted toward unconsciousness once again. “No. We _left_ him. He didn’t stay behind.”

“He did,” Colin said, his voice grim. “Draco betrayed us.”

\- - -  
_December 23rd, 1997_  
\- - -

_“Alohomora!”_

The click of a lock unlatching pierced the night as Hermione and her three companions froze, waiting with bated breath for the sound of a security alarm or the shouts of startled occupants. Hermione counted to ten under her breath before pushing the door open wider, anticipating the creak of rusty hinges. They were met with nothing but silence.

“You better be right about this, Creevey,” Draco hissed between the chattering of his teeth, his own wand lifted before him, ready at any moment for signs of an attack.

“He is,” Harry answered. “We’ve been watching this place since dawn. No one has been in or out, and the mail slot is overflowing. Whoever lives here has been gone a while.”

“The question is when are they going to come back?” Draco continued

“Enough already,” Hermione said in exasperation before Colin could jump into the fray. “It’s too cold to have this argument for the hundredth time. Let’s get inside, and wipe your feet on the mat before you come in!”

All four of them stomped snow off their shoes before they crossed the threshold, and darkness greeted them as they entered a kitchen. They moved slowly through the room, alert, wands aloft, flinching at their own shadows.

 _“Homenum Revelio!”_ Hermione whispered, and then in a louder voice, “It’s okay. No one’s home.”

“I’d hope not. Otherwise we wasted an entire day in the snow staring at an occupied house.”

Hermione, Harry, and Colin ignored Draco, as they usually did. Though Hermione never wanted to admit, even to herself, that they had replaced Ron in their group, she couldn’t help but compare Draco’s quick annoyance to Ron’s. How Draco had lasted a month roughing it on his own before stumbling across Harry and Hermione, Hermione couldn’t fathom.

Colin immediately sought out the hearth and lit a fire with his wand. Bluebell flames, Hermione’s specialty, crackled from the fireplace, emitting heat and light without smoke that could alert neighbors to their illegal presence. Harry crouched down in front of the fire, trying to return some warmth to his limbs, but Hermione went to the Christmas tree sparkling in the corner. Pine needles littered the fleece that surrounded the trunk, leaving a fresh, clean scent in the air, which the emerging heat only intensified.

Draco remained in the kitchen, the whine of aged hinges indicating he was raiding the cabinets. A moment later he moaned.

“What? What is it?” Harry asked, on his feet and wand at the ready once more.

Draco came into the entryway that separated the living and dining rooms, an enormous can tucked under each arm. “We’ve got a choice between three kilos of dog food and three kilos of chocolate pudding _from a can_. I don’t know which one sounds more horrifying.”

“We’ve been eating squirrel for three months. I think dog food is a step up,” Hermione said, but she was disappointed by Draco’s findings as well. As much as she hated to take advantage of this family’s absence, she had been looking forward to eating real food.

It had been three months since they’d escaped Fenrir Greyback and his Snatchers’ clutches. Three months since they’d found Ron, his body dead but reanimated as a soldier in You-Know-Who’s Inferi army. Three months since they’d lost Dennis Creevey, their tent, and the Felix Felicis Draco had gifted Harry as a sign of good faith. They’d been on the run ever since, seeking shelter wherever it could be found, whether that was a dry pile of leaves in a sparse wood or an old barn or someone’s currently unoccupied home. They ate squirrels Draco caught with his crossbow, bought food with the limited Muggle money Colin had provided, and stole from markets when their bellies growled too viciously to allow them any sleep, but their stomachs hadn’t felt full in months.

Draco brought a handful of spoons and both the dog food and the pudding into the living room, and the four of them gathered in a circle around their feast. Hermione used her wand to open the pudding, leaving the dog food for another more desperate meal, and she, Draco, and Colin dug in with relish.

Harry laid his wand next to him and reached under the neck of his shirt for the mokeskin pouch that hung there. Every night, he completed the same ritual, emptying out the pouch to make sure everything of importance was still there: the shard of glass from the two-way mirror Sirius had given him two years ago before his death; the Marauder’s Map, which Hermione knew Harry stared at obsessively before sleeping to assure himself of Ginny’s safety; a Golden Snitch bequeathed to him in Dumbledore’s will; the first page of a letter from Harry’s mother to Sirius; and, finally, the locket Horcrux they had stolen from Dolores Umbridge while infiltrating the Ministry a few months ago, which they were still no closer to destroying.

He lined up these possessions in front of him, and then, one by one, he stored them back inside the pouch, tucking it under his shirt again before he picked up his own spoon and helped himself to pudding.

After Hermione had had her fill (as a former child of dentists, Hermione did not have much of a sweet tooth and could not eat as much of the chocolate pudding as the boys could), she pulled her beaded handbag out of her coat pocket and opened it. Like Harry’s mokeskin pouch, the inside was magically expanded to carry and conceal objects that normally would not have fit, but instead of emptying the bag to catalog its contents, she reached in for a specific object. She brushed a toppled stack of books, a dirty pile of laundry, various healing potions and Muggle antiseptics, and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak before her fingers landed on her own map, which she pulled out of the bag and stretched out on the floor.

A map of the United Kingdom looked up at her, some town names circled in red, some crossed out with an X. Some circled _and_ crossed out with an X. The map showed every location in which they had spent a night as well as every possible location of a Horcrux. Harry had shared—reshared in Hermione’s case—the memories of Tom Riddle’s life that Dumbledore had divulged to him with Colin and Draco, and Hermione had circled potential Horcrux hiding spots on the map. After they’d searched these locations, she’d drawn an X through them. They’d gone over the map time and time again, but there were only three possible locations left, and Hermione had to admit they were out of options.

“Well?” Harry asked, though he knew the lay of the map as well as Hermione did, and he knew, like she did, that he was about to get his way.

She bit her thumb, roaming through the points of towns and villages in a futile hope that a new idea, a new theory would come to her, that the map would sense her desperation and reveal a hitherto unseen path. Finally, she sighed, accepting the inevitable.

“Hogwarts, Godric’s Hollow, or Malfoy Manor.”

“Hogwarts,” Colin said.

“Godric’s Hollow,” Harry insisted.

“Malfoy Manor?” Draco hoped.

Leaving Hermione as the deciding vote.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We just can’t go to Malfoy Manor or Hogwarts right now.” Harry beamed and then tried (and failed) to compose himself. “We know what threats await us in those places, and we know how difficult it would be to get in and out.”

Colin stayed quiet, accepting Hermione’s decision, but Draco said, “If we know what’s waiting for us, we can prepare for those threats. I know Malfoy Manor like the back of my eyelids. I know how it’s protected.”

Hermione could tell by the informative tone of his voice that he wasn’t committed to his argument. He knew the futility, the danger, of his family home, but he felt the need to state his case, to play devil’s advocate, to make sure everyone was aware of the pros and cons of their choice.

Harry’s expression sobered. “And if we ever have need to go there, we would be glad for your help. But V—” Colin, Draco, and Hermione hissed, wary of the Taboo that would summon Inferi to their location when Lord Voldemort’s name was spoken, “—I mean, You-Know-Who doesn’t have strong ties to your family’s home. Godric’s Hollow is where his body was first destroyed. There has to be a Horcrux there, and if there isn’t, maybe that’s where Gryffindor’s sword is hidden.”

His determination and optimism settled the matter, and even though Hermione was uneasy, she couldn’t see any other way. They couldn’t continue wandering the country as fugitives. They had to take action, even if all of their choices were too dangerous to contemplate.

“Okay then,” she said, meeting the boys’ eyes. “Tomorrow we’ll go to Godric’s Hollow.”

\- - -

Colin and Harry’s snores mixed with Hermione’s pervasive worries, making her restless. They’d taken turns showering in the guest bathroom on the ground floor while Hermione and Colin washed all their clothes in an honest to goodness washing machine. Then they’d found extra blankets in a hall closet. Despite having clean skin, hair, and clothes for the first time in months, and despite the cozy nest they had constructed in the light of the Christmas tree, Hermione couldn’t sleep. She missed sleeping outside. There was something about the danger that forced her body to rest because she never knew if a wandering pack of Inferi or Snatchers would stumble upon their camp. Her body knew it had to rest as deeply as it could when time allowed.

The safety of the farmhouse made her anxious. The lights of the Christmas tree pierced her eyelids. She was used to sleeping under a canopy of tree branches or stars, the sound of small creatures dashing through the foliage her lullaby.

She sat up and saw that she wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

Draco sat in a chair in front of the window, a blanket pulled up over his shoulders and his crossbow in his lap. He stared intently into the yard and the fields beyond, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Hermione joined him at the window, her own quilted blanket draped over her shoulders like a king’s robe.

“There are at least two out there,” he said, his gaze never wavering. “They’re following us.”

“They’re not capable of following us. They don’t have the ability to conceptualize people hiding. They only attack what they can see.”

Draco’s lips thinned, but he said nothing, holding onto his belief despite Hermione’s claims.

Since they’d escaped Greyback’s clutches, Draco had become a more serious figure. He had taken on the responsibility of keeping the group safe without being asked, and Hermione often found him awake when everyone else was sleeping, peering into the woods or out into a field, wherever they had managed to lay their heads, in silence.

Now he buzzed with energy, his body vibrating from jittery feet and twitchy fingers.

Hermione knew exactly what bothered him, and she said, “I’m sorry about Malfoy Manor.”

He shook his head as if shaking off an irritating fly. “Don’t be. I knew we couldn’t go there.”

He was right, so Hermione didn’t embarrass him with fruitless hopes that they might be able to search Malfoy Manor later. While You-Know-Who claimed the ancestral Malfoy home as his headquarters, Harry would never set foot there.

Which meant Draco would never know the fate of his parents. That is, not until the war was over—win or lose.

She put her hand over his, and his fingers stopped tapping the metal frame of the crossbow as he glanced at her momentarily before resuming.

“You really should get some sleep. We need you well-rested.”

He grunted, his gaze glued to a spot on the window or outside it. She could tell he wasn’t looking at anything in particular because for the first time since she’d joined him, his eyes were still, pointedly focusing on something so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at her.

It became obvious that he wasn’t going to say anything else, so Hermione returned to her nest on the floor. Colin snored lightly when she accidentally rubbed against his leg, but he curled up on his side without waking.

Hermione stared at Draco’s profile, the way the lights on the Christmas tree glinted in his hair, the sharp point of his chin and his nose, the gaunt angle of his cheekbones, the troubled frown adorning his lips. No matter how many sheep she counted, no matter how long she attempted relaxing techniques she’d learned to cope with the stress of revising for exams, she could not fall asleep, so she watched him, his wakeful presence and silent alertness a solid comfort in these troubled times.

\- - -  
_December 24th, 1997_  
\- - -

Hermione had finally managed to fall asleep just before dawn, but her slumber had been interrupted by restless legs and an anxiety that had leaked into her fitful dreams. After three hours of fighting for sleep, she’d finally given up and risen, stuffing herself with as much pudding as she could manage for breakfast. Her intolerance for sweets had not allowed her to eat much, so her morning had been dissatisfying, to say the least.

Draco, still sitting at the window with his crossbow, had ignored her as she’d pattered around the house. She washed the spoons the four of them had used to eat the pudding the night before, gathered up her blankets and put them away in the hall closet, and had begun folding their clean laundry when Harry and Colin finally opened their eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Harry asked as he slid his glasses on his face, his voice rough.

“Abysmally,” Hermione said at the same time Colin replied with, “Great!”

She glared in Colin’s direction as he stretched his arms in the air, a delighted smile on his face, but she couldn’t fault him for his good mood. It had been so long since they’d had a reason to smile, and clean bodies and a warm shelter were certainly reasons to smile.

She turned to Harry as he twisted his torso in an attempt to crack his back. “How about you?”

“I slept, but my dreams were hardly restful.”

Hermione lowered the briefs she’d just picked up and felt a stab of anxiety through her ribcage. “Did you—”

“ _No._ It wasn’t that kind of dream. I didn’t see _him_.”

“What was it, then?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.” He stood up, avoiding both Colin’s and Hermione’s eyes as he went to the window to see what Draco was looking at. He used his sleeve to wipe some of the fog off the glass and jumped back with a startled yelp that made Draco fall out of his chair.

Two Inferi stood outside, crowded together in front of the window and staring in hunger as if waiting for one of the occupants to come out. They clicked their rotted jaws together, like piranhas in front of live bait, their cloudy eyes uncannily aware of the people inside.

Draco picked himself up off the floor, and the way his eyelids drooped, Hermione figured he had only been asleep for a few minutes. “Told you they were following us.”

Hermione began to shiver so violently, she couldn’t hold onto the pair of briefs anymore and dropped them back on top of the laundry pile. Only when Colin pulled the curtains around the windows closed did she manage to think properly again, but she gave up the laundry as a bad job.

“Colin, can you finish this for me?”

While he continued folding laundry, Hermione followed Draco and Harry into the kitchen.

“Great. Pudding for breakfast,” Draco said, his voice dull.

“I found a stale box of biscuits in the cupboard next to the refrigerator, if you’re looking for variety.”

He did not seem to appreciate Hermione’s contribution to the morning meal. As he forlornly spooned pudding into his mouth, she cornered Harry against the refrigerator.

“Tell me about your dream,” she said, arms crossed in an unforgiving posture.

“We don’t have time for this. We need to shape up a plan for Godric’s Hollow. We are still going tonight, aren’t we?”

“Not unless you tell me about your dream.”

Harry gave a long suffering sigh, his brow wrinkled in irritation. When he spoke, he looked at the childish drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with magnets, avoiding both Draco and Hermione’s gazes.

“I… er, I had a dream that I was a baby. I was with my parents at… at our house in Godric’s Hollow. It was my birthday. Dumbledore was there. So was Bathilda Bagshot—”

“Bathilda Bagshot?”

Harry looked at Hermione now. “Yeah. The author of—”

Hermione waved her hand impatiently. “ _Hogwarts, A History_ , I know, I know! What was she doing there?”

Harry shrugged. “At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Ro—er, I mean, Ginny’s Aunt Muriel said that Bathilda Bagshot and the Dumbledores lived at Godric’s Hollow. And in the letter I found at Grimmauld Place, my mum said Bathilda had stopped by for my birthday tea.”

Hermione bit her lip, considering what Harry had said.

“I mean, I don’t know what Bathilda Bagshot looks like, but it was one of those dream moments, you know? Where you’ve never seen the person before in your life but you just know who they’re supposed to be? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What if it was a memory, Harry?”

“Could it have been? I mean, maybe. I did dream about a flying motorcycle once, before Hagrid delivered my Hogwarts letter. Before I found out he carried me on a flying motorcycle to my aunt and uncle’s house as a baby. But my mum's letter never said anything about Dumbledore stopping in for my birthday.”

“It’s a cute dream and everything, but what does it even matter if it’s a memory or not?” Draco interjected through a mouthful of pudding. “Everyone in the dream is dead now except Potter.”

“Not Bathilda Bagshot,” Hermione said, her heart racing in triumph. “She was last seen by Rita Skeeter when she wrote that awful book about Dumbledore. It’s very possible she’s still alive and still living at Godric’s Hollow!” She turned to Harry, whose expression suggested he didn’t follow Hermione’s train of thought. “If Ms. Bagshot knew your parents, especially intimately enough to attend your birthday party, then maybe Dumbledore trusted her enough to leave Gryffindor’s sword with her! Maybe she’s still waiting for you there!”

“Do you think it’s possible?”

The hesitant hope in Harry’s voice would have broken Hermione’s heart if she hadn’t felt so certain. This was the first real lead they had had in ages. Their hope had dried up after visiting the location of the orphanage Tom Riddle had lived in as a child, but this news about Bathilda Bagshot was enough to revive new hope in Hermione.

“Yes, I think it’s absolutely possible, but we won’t know for sure until we get to Godric’s Hollow.”

Draco pushed the can of pudding away and tossed his spoon in the sink. “So what’s the plan?”

“Colin? Can you come here for a second?” Hermione called into the living room.

Colin joined them a moment later, and Draco passed the pudding and a fresh spoon over.

“I have some Polyjuice Potion left. Maybe just enough for all of us.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t want to hide in the place where my parents died.”

“What if someone recognizes you?” Draco asked. “You’d risk our safety for your comfort?”

“It’s not about comfort. I can’t explain it. I just want to be myself. I want to see my home with my own eyes.”

“It’s not practical, Harry. It’s not safe.”

Colin gestured at Hermione and Draco with his spoon. “You two Disillusion yourselves. I’ll stay undisguised with Harry, and he can carry the cloak with him in case something happens.”

“Why us?” Draco asked with a sneer.

“Because Hermione is known to be associated with Harry, and you are a known Death Eater. You bring the most attention to us.”

Draco flinched at the words ‘Death Eater,’ his hand automatically clapping over his forearm, though the Dark Mark was hidden under his long-sleeved shirt. Hermione had never seen his Mark, and she shuddered now as she was reminded of its presence. Having a direct link to You-Know-Who following them around was a terrifying thought, but she usually drowned out the paranoia and fear with reminders of Draco’s trustworthiness. He knew the entirety of the mission Dumbledore had left for Harry, and he’d been traveling with them for months, saving their lives time and time again. He’d won their trust, and doubting the decision to include him in the group would only lead to disaster.

Colin was still speaking. “And it might help if half our group is hidden. If someone does approach us, they’ll never expect you two. A Disillusionment Charm blends in better at night, as well.”

Hermione considered Colin’s suggestion for a moment and then nodded. It was the best plan they had in light of Harry’s stubbornness. “That sounds reasonable.” She turned to Harry, who nodded, and then Draco, but he saw the sense of Colin’s plan as well, though his lips were thin in disapproval.

“Fine. As always, Potter will get special treatment as he endangers the lives of everyone around him.”

“Yes,” Hermione said with a sigh. “No use arguing. This is how we do things. Finally catching on, are you?”

For a moment, Draco’s lips twisted, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was meant to laugh or not—or if he wanted to.

“We might need the Polyjuice later, so let’s conserve it if we can,” Harry said. “Thank you for understanding.”

Draco stepped forward and poked Harry in the chest. “It’s not about us understanding. You need to understand you’re being a wanker about this, and if either Granger or I die because you refuse to disguise yourself on this mission, rest assured that I will haunt you from the afterlife.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “M-me?”

Draco turned his cold, grey eyes on her, the bags under his eyelids simultaneously making him look vulnerably exhausted and dangerous. In certain lights, he had the appearance of a corpse, with gaunt cheeks and hollowed eye sockets. Sometimes it hurt to look at him because he resembled an Inferius too closely, and the comparison reminded her how thin a line they walked between living and dying. She was afraid that one day Draco would pass from alive to dead without anyone noticing, until the moment his body became reanimated under You-Know-Who’s curse and attacked them in their sleep, recruiting all of them into the Inferi army that wandered the woods and the countryside.

“Yes, you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve kept us alive and sheltered these past few months. If anything happened to you, we’d be as good as dead. Personally, I like staying alive.”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed at the unorthodox compliment, depressing as it was.

“What about me?” Colin asked.

Draco’s gaze skimmed him from head to toe, but he looked away, dismissing what he saw. “To be honest, I don’t know what you do for this group, Creevey. Your death wouldn’t be a loss for us.”

Outrage filled Hermione where pleasure had overwhelmed her just a moment ago. She shoved Draco into the kitchen counter, the move so sudden neither Harry nor Colin could stop her.

“You don’t mean that! You don’t! If you didn’t value every person in this group, you wouldn’t kill yourself night after night to keep watch and protect us! If Colin hadn’t been important, you wouldn’t have grabbed him before Apparating us away from those woods where Dennis and Ron—” She choked on a sob, tears leaking down her cheeks. “Pretend all you want, but we matter to you! All of us do!”

The house was fairly large, with a second floor that they had left unexplored, but there was still so much work to do before they departed for Godric’s Hollow later that evening, so Hermione stomped into the living room and threw herself back into folding the laundry. The sound of running water from the kitchen sink could be heard as Harry and Colin returned to the living room and picked up their blankets.

Draco joined them a few minutes later, probably after he had washed the spoons several times in an attempt to stall. Then he went to Colin, seated in the chair by the window where he was keeping an eye on the Inferi. He shot a quick glance at Hermione, who pretended not to notice what was going on by the window, feigning intense concentration as she folded a cloak.

“Your death would be a devastating loss. To us. And to me, I guess.”

“Sure,” Colin said, his lips trembling as he tried to hide a smile. “Thanks, mate.”

“Without you, the world would be in peril, and I would… mourn in some fashion that is socially acceptable for the task.”

“Thanks, Malfoy, but you rea—”

“I might shed a tear. Possibly two tears if your death was gruesome enough. A font of tears would rain from my eyes, pooling at my feet in a… puddle of tears.”

Colin’s laughter floated free, uncontainable. “All right already, I’ve heard enough! Go do something useful, you idiot.”

Draco jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Colin relinquished the chair to him to join Hermione and help put the laundry away in her beaded bag.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Hermione,” Colin whispered. “He doesn’t know any better.”

 _Maybe not_ , she thought with a glance at Draco. His crossbow sat in his lap and he was glaring at the Inferi as if trying to will them away from the window or the farmhouse altogether. _But maybe he can learn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/8/2016  
> Yay! Finally moving on to the expanded portion of this story. Updates will be slower because the first six chapters were all written in 2015, but I'll be writing as I go from now on. I continue to be obsessed with The Walking Dead, so hopefully this story will slowly but surely continue. I'm planning for there to be three parts (this chapter is the beginning of part two), but I don't know exactly how many chapters there will be total.
> 
> Reviews appreciated!


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